As the Journey Begins
by Larrkin
Summary: This story features MM spanking. Ch 1, Aragorn teaches Boromir about the his new role in the chain of command. Ch 2, Legolas takes an immediate dislike to Boromir, inviting some attention from Aragorn.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I don't own  
these characters. This story is not meant to violate the rights held  
by New Line, Tolkien Enterprises, nor any other licensee, nor is any  
disrespect intended._

**Attention Deserved**

by Larrkin

I found myself wandering again, going nowhere in particular, just following one of Rivendell's many pathways through the golden woods, past the streams, alongside the falls, answering the need to keep moving my muscles and hoping to perhaps distract my mind.

A flawed strategy to say the least. My thoughts followed me, nagging even louder in my solitude. This feeling that I knew him had become consuming. His image danced on the edges of my thoughts. And now, last night, he'd invaded my dreams as well.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Isildur's Heir, Lord of the Dúnedain, Heir to the throne of Gondor, and unyielding lodger in my mind and soul.

I know the history of my people well. I grew up surrounded by tales of Gondor's glory, and of the splendid years of peace and plenty, of the legends and magnificent battles and victories, of the valiant line of kings and the lore connected with this man. And indeed, he was "no mere Ranger," as Legolas had condescendingly proclaimed.

Insolent elf. Speaking out against me like that in front of the entire council of nobles. Correcting me as though I were a callow youth in need of instruction. Had I not been shocked to silence by his statement I'd have returned his discourtesy in kind. I may yet seek him out in private to address the issue of good manners. I haven't decided if he's worth the trouble. But clearly he and the Ranger are old friends and the pretty elfling prince respects Aragorn since he readily accepted the man's authority.

But would I? Hm.

I paused, finding myself in a secluded glade, far away now from the graceful elvish buildings glittering in the distance, but still well within the borders of Rivendell's domain. Perhaps here, away from the eternal tranquility of that otherworldly settlement, I could center myself once more and find my comforting warrior's discipline.

Sitting on a large outcropping of rock, I forced my mind to Gondor. I thought of Faramir and my father, of my loyal company of warriors, of the crisis pressing down upon our city from the east. Staggering pressures threatened our people . . . and yet, seconds later, I realized that, to my frustration, the wretched man had once again overrun even my most grave thoughts of home.

I shot up with a snarl and began to pace. Perhaps the enchantment of these elvish lands had somehow damaged my mind . . . no. No, how ridiculous and impossible. Still, I was definitely not in control of myself, an awareness that sent a shiver up my spine.

And again his rugged face haunted me, his clear eyes, his strangely wise and patient gaze. Where had I seen Aragorn? Where? I knew that gaze. I did! This was maddening! And it was getting worse. Every day since the council this feeling that I'd seen the man, or served with him, or known him had grown more profound.

The simplest solution would have been to simply ask Aragorn how we knew each other, or if indeed we ever had. But, no . . . no we had. I was sure of it. _He _knew we had. I may not possess Faramir's second sight or enjoy my father's ability to see inside men's' hearts, but I knew without a doubt that Aragorn looked at me with a familiar air. _He _knew the answer to this vexing riddle. I could end my perplexity. I could ask.

But . . . no. I cared not to do such a thing. I could not say why. I just chose not to. I didn't need his aid. I would solve this myself. I'd remember by myself.

Meanwhile my temperament was suffering. This very morning I had snarled at the youngest halfling about his persistent chatter. I immediately regretted my impatience, for in truth I enjoy these little ones with their merry hearts and laughing ways and trusting, childlike gazes. I felt badly when I saw hurt cloud Pippin's wide eyes before he pivoted and stalked off.

But I felt even worse when I glanced further away and saw Aragorn watching me with a look of dark disdain, having clearly heard and seen all. A hot wash of guilt had flooded me, making my face burn. Not one of my finer moments.

Blast the man! Why did he haunt me? How dare he presume upon the privacy of my thoughts! And his presumption did not end there. He had taken to issuing me orders as though I were an underling. I! A seasoned warrior, Captain of the White Tower, a leader of men and heir to my noble father the Steward of Gondor!

Aye, that wretched elf was right – I did owe Aragorn my allegiance. But did that include taking orders from him when he was not yet my king? It was a cloudy issue for me. I could consult Gandalf about it, but . . . no. No, again, I cared not to do such a thing. Again, I just chose not to. And, again, I didn't know why.

I would conquer this. I had readily joined Aragorn in volunteering to escort Frodo on his quest, so I'd chosen the further company of the man. I would be in his presence every day and every night, and I would conquer this!

The quest also gave me the chance to speak with the winsome hobbit about the Ring and how it might be used more wisely. Destroy it? The sheer senselessness of such an act seemed unthinkable. And to place it in the hands of this little one! I am fond of Frodo, sweet-faced charmer that he is, but to see him made Ringbearer? Frodo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, so naïve, so like a boy, untrained in warfare and unschooled in the ways of the mighty and the sovereign, and yet entrusted with a power so great that it could destroy the enemies of Gondor and secure freedom from tyranny for the peoples of Middle Earth . . . if wielded by the right holder. Now how great a folly was this?

I alone harbored inner objections, though. For all his exalted ancestry, Aragorn displayed the same ignorance that infested the other members of the council. None seemed willing to use the power right at our fingertips. Gandalf, in true wizard's fashion, bespoke his position admirably, moving even the stalwart dwarves to silence with his fearsome display of the Black Speech, my fellow noblemen shrinking like frightened schoolboys. And that arrogant elfling prince may indeed be a fine warrior, but he is of little use to my cause. He wholly submits to Aragorn's will in this matter, and the Ranger is resolute.

But, I sense in Aragorn an overall hesitancy to fully accept that command which is rightfully his. It seems beyond reason. However, if he is indeed uncertain about himself or his direction it could prove useful. I am no diplomat, but I am the only one at hand to bespeak Gondor's need and to champion a higher cause for the Ring. I have never shirked any duty, nor hesitated to do what I must to achieve my goal. Aragorn may yet listen to reason. I can only try. And if he will not, the little one might.

I pondered my course for some time in that secluded glade, struggling to remember the various means of diplomacy my tutors had tried to drill into my warrior's head, and striving to avoid despairing overmuch that I remembered little of it. And, of course, the constant resurgence of Aragorn's face and form and voice and majestic manner plagued my thoughts.

The shadows grew long, and yet I stayed there, reluctant to head back to the settlement. I felt no healthier in mind nor spirit than when I'd struck out seeking relief, and returning when I'd accomplished so little was a disheartening notion. Still, I'd wandered far, and I had to return before nightfall as I had no torch. Stumbling about, lost in Rivendell's hinterland, held no appeal, nor did spending the night curled up in the forest without my cloak.

Darkness had indeed fallen before I regained my chamber. I had blundered into only two dead-ends before finding my way through the dense foliage and back to the path. It could have been worse. A fire had been lit in my room and it was warm and comforting, though I did not expect to find much ease there for my troubled heart. Surely this bewitching place had softened my mind. The nagging sense that I knew Aragorn still consumed me. It now seemed that I could even smell the aroma of the man's pipe.

"Where have you been?"

I spun, my hand on my sword, and there in a shadowed corner I saw him, or rather, I saw the glow of his pipe.

Aragorn stood slowly and stepped into the light, looking as though he was waiting for an answer, but would not wait for long. Annoyed that he had succeeded in startling me, I made no reply. He grunted low, as if he'd expected my defiance, then he crossed to the hearth and leaned over the fire, knocking the ashes from his pipe. Placing it on the mantle, he turned to study me again, somber and expectant.

Suddenly I could bear it no longer. "I _know_ you!" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Aragorn stared at me for a long moment, clearly astounded, then he smiled softly and, I swear, indulgently.

"Aye, little fledgling," he replied. "You do indeed. Although it surprises me that you remember. You were no more than four years of age when I left the service of your grandsire."

I froze. _'Little fledgling!'_ No! It could not be! Fire shot through my body, memories surging up so fast and thick I nearly lost my legs.

Only one man had ever called me that, a warrior of great renown and honor who had served Gondor when I was a child. A warrior so beloved of my grandsire that he made my own father jealous and anxious for his position of ascension. A man I had nearly worshipped for his valor and had vowed to emulate, and a man who had been good to me, who never seemed to mind me trailing at his feet or climbing into his lap – a man who had cared for me, a man I'd loved.

"Thorongil," I breathed.

He smiled again. "Aye, Boromir. Your memory serves you well."

XXXXXXXXXX

Of course he looked stunned. It shocked me that he remembered me at all, much less the assumed name I had taken so long ago.

He had been so small when I left The White City. Memories of him raced through my head and filled my heart: his sturdy little boy's body and his wide bright eyes, his quick, eager mind, his stubbornness and determination to master something new, his willingness to accept obedience to the warrior's code of discipline, although this last was often learned from his position stretched over my knee.

After serving Boromir's grandsire, Ecthelion, for some time it had became difficult for me to remain in Minas Tirith, not only because my destiny called me away, I knew not where, but because Denethor's growing distrust and resentment made it impossible for me to remain. Boromir himself played a small role in his father's swelling rivalry with me, the child's adoration of the valiant Thorongil being obvious even to the casual observer.

A bittersweet scene flashed through my mind, my last sight of Boromir as I rode from Minas Tirith . . . a child's high, sweet voice, raw with tears, calling after me. I would ne'er forget glancing back over my shoulder for one last look, and seeing that adorable little boy tear free from his father's hold and come running behind me, his bright blond hair flying wildly, his arms waving.

"_Thorongil! No, please!" _he had screamed. _"Don't go! Please, pleeeeease come back! I don't want you to go!" _ Then: _"Take me with youuuu!"_

This last forced me to halt my mount and jump down to deal with him. Boromir crying such a plea in front of his father and grandsire and the scattered men at arms was awkward and it would harden Denethor's heart anew, but more importantly, it bespoke Boromir's anguish. My fledgling had deserved my attention.

I knelt and he flew into my embrace, sobbing on my shoulder. I waited until he had quieted enough to hear me, then I drew him back and looked at him, saying in a firm voice, _"Boromir, you must listen to me. You belong here, with your people, not wandering the wild with a man seeking his destiny. You shall grow to be a great and noble warrior, a brave Son of Gondor, the pride of your people and a credit to your father and grandsire. This is where you must stay, my little fledgling. Stay, grow strong, and make me proud of you."_

He wept piteously, but he did hear me, and he understood. _"Yes, my lord,"_ he whimpered.

"_Hush now, little one,"_ I said. _"Soon all men, even the mighty and the great, shall call you 'my lord,' and you shall be worthy of that title. And fear not. No doubt we shall meet again one day."_

He nodded, then flung himself at me for one final embrace, whispering, _"I love you, Thorongil."_

I had fought to hold back my own stinging tears and murmured back, _"I love you too, little fledgling."_

And now, here he stood, tall, strong, the consummate warrior I knew he would grow to be. I had known who he was the moment he rode through Rivendell's gates. He was alone, having made the long journey from Gondor without guard or kinsmen. Yet he was clearly unafraid, looking around with wonder and fascination while his mount danced energetically beneath him.

Boromir had the look of his father to him, the resolute pride and confidence, and the glitter in his eye that dared the world to challenge him. Denethor had done well by my fledgling, and I felt a surprising shimmer of regret course through me at having missed all the years I could have spent watching him grow.

"I knew it," he said, still shaken. "I've been going mad with trying to remember, but I-I just could not --"

"Why did you not simply ask me?" I inquired, knowing full well that the stubborn hardheadedness of the child I knew yet lived in the man he had become.

Boromir shifted from foot to foot, clearly flustered, an exposed and vulnerable look in his eyes, and then he surprised me.

I had expected a defensive response, or an evasive one, but instead, a faint glimmer of that little boy peeked out, and a shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said, "I should have."

I had to smile back, my heart swelling with sudden pride at his truthfulness. Crossing the space between us, I opened my arms to him, saying, "Aye, but you were always of a stubborn bent of mind."

He came into my embrace with a wry grin and a small sniff of resignation. "I seem to recall you saying so."

"You gave me much occasion to."

"I was but four years of age, my lord!"

"A poor excuse."

He then surprised me once more. He laid his head on my shoulder as he had in our last moments together years before, although he had to lean down slightly to do so.

I closed my eyes, lost for a moment in the overwhelming bliss of that one small, but enormous gesture. I enfolded him closer, and he responded, allowing himself to be controlled and pulled tightly against me, and I swear I felt the hammering of his heart as strongly as my own.

"I . . . I missed you, Thorongil," he murmured.

As I did long ago, I fought back the tears that stung my eyes. "And I you, little fledgling."

We drew back after several long minutes and he looked at me with new understanding, those same glittering and inquisitive eyes searching my face.

"How could I have not recognized you?" he marveled.

"I am much changed," I replied. "Many years have passed since you last saw me, Boromir, hard years spent roaming the wild as a Ranger. Such a life weathers and ages a man. You were quite young when I left you. As I said, I am surprised you remember me at all."

Boromir's intense gaze locked on mine. "But, I did know you, if not in my mind, then in my heart. I could not rest for knowing you, and for not knowing you, and struggling to remember. Yet, now that my memory returns, I see you as plainly as you have ever lived in my mind's eye." He smiled, a great warmth of affection in his eyes. "Nay, my lord, you have not aged much from that young hero of my childhood. You are that man still." He flashed another ready smile. "But it is shocking to stand so tall that I look directly at you."

I grinned, enjoying his easy and charming manner. "Aye, well imagine my shock, seeing my little fledgling grown so sturdy and strong."

We shared a laugh, and he observed, "No longer a fledgling, my lord. No longer that little boy."

I paused, watching him for a moment, then said, "Ah, but as you see in me shadows of the young hero you once knew, I see in you shadows of my stubborn fledgling. You are now a mighty Captain of Gondor, but the little boy lives in you still, Boromir. There is no hiding him from me. I am not taken in by appearances."

His eyes widened slightly, then he dropped his gaze, that shy grin surfacing again. "You never were, my lord," he murmured, sounding very much like the child I knew. Ah, but he was so delightful!

This had gone far better than I could ever have dreamed. Now I could move on and deal with the matters that had brought me in search of him.

I had been giving Boromir small orders for several days, measuring his ability to accept my authority, something I felt would be a challenge to a fellow leader of men, as indeed it had proven to be thus far. Our quest would be difficult enough without a constant disruptive undercurrent of insubordination. I would not stand for it. Boromir would have to submit to my command, and I was not sure he would be able to do so, a dilemma that nagged at me. Clearly it troubled Boromir as well, his displeasure with the way things were likely made worse by his resentment of the obvious bond between Legolas and me. Something had to be done.

My purpose became clear earlier in the day when I saw my fledgling snap at Pippin. Boromir's struggle with my authority, his fascination with the Ring and, as I now knew, his frustrating bewilderment over my identity had beaten him down until his temper had erupted and he had snarled at a guileless hobbit, a little soul in whom he obviously delighted.

Had I not stepped from the shadows, allowing my sudden movement to catch Boromir's eye, he would not have noticed me watching him. But I wanted to see how he responded, and what I saw reflected in his gaze told me all I needed to know. His instant remorse and shame touched my heart. There was no defiance, only painful regret.

I suffered a few regrets myself, watching Boromir turn and stalk away, guilt weighing heavily on his broad, stooped shoulders. I had been remiss with my fledgling, allowing him too much time to come to terms with his discomfort himself. I knew what needed to be done, and I had no misgivings about doing it. It is, however, no great challenge for me to toss a hobbit over my knee and lower his britches for some much-needed discipline. Boromir would be a different matter.

A hobbit has a unique advantage. If he desires he can fight me all he wants to and he is still going to end up over my knee taking the spanking he deserves. But the struggle, the overpowering and the lack of choice are oddly comforting. They keep a small measure of dignity, for they did all they could to fight it, but were simply unable to stop the inevitable. Good thing, too, for in their hearts they know exactly what they need, and forcing me to stop is the last thing they desire.

As is true for many, there is solace for the halflings in knowing there is a force bigger than themselves who has only their best interests at heart, even if that best interest results in a burning backside. They can feign all the resentment they choose to, pour out their fury and frustration, struggle and kick and thrash to their hearts' content and still end up getting exactly where they wanted to go – nowhere . . . and, of course, the little ones are not alone in such feelings.

There is, however, a mutual awareness, for they are never disciplined without understanding the reason. Of course, they are rarely perplexed about why they are over my knee to begin with, but in case they are, as they were in Bree when I first showed them the consequences of misbehavior, I explain the matter clearly so that they do understand.

Such is rarely needed, though, for the little ones know very well why they are being spanked, and they know what they need from me, so much so that on several occasions when I have been willing to forgive a misdeed with merely a few stern words, they have continued to deliberately provoke me and press the issue until they at last achieve the result they truly desired.

No matter. The halflings have many reasons for what they need, all valid and worthy of my respect. I care about them as if they were of my own flesh and if one of these beloved small souls seeks an extra measure of my attention, I shall more than willingly give them that attention.

I loved my fledgling just as much. He deserved that same attention, and my lap fits all sizes. Legolas had been there more times than I could count over our many years together, our understanding having been established long ago. But how could I convince Boromir to willingly submit?

I had thought to perhaps threaten him with expulsion from the Fellowship unless he vowed to accept my authority. But I wanted Boromir's submission to be of his own free will, not in response to a threat. I could, in fact, see no other way. So I pondered the problem whilst sitting in his chamber awaiting his return.

And then Boromir presented the answer himself, laying it before me so clearly that I wondered at having failed to see it myself. Of course, I had never considered that he would remember me from so long ago. The fact that he did, however, solved my problem nicely.

Our affection from the past was still real and potent. Boromir clearly felt it as strongly as I did, and I knew that our old bond would withstand the new demands I planned to place upon it, beginning with the basic form of discipline that had been so effective with him as a child.

I did not deceive myself. Boromir may yield to my authority at present, but he would surely still challenge me on occasion and find himself in further need of correction. He and Legolas had much in common – pride, obstinacy and, if what I sensed in my fledgling was correct, a certain need for attention.

Leaders such as Boromir, schooled in self-sufficiency, often harbored the mistaken belief that the need for loving attention did not befit their station, so they disdained any unseemly longing for even the most simple care, forsaking the little boy inside who yearned for that loving attention, burying him so efficiently that he ceased to exist.

But I would not permit that stoic denial of need to plague my fledgling. Boromir was about to learn that he was worthy of care. As with the hobbits and my beloved elfling, my attention to him was attention deserved.

"Come," I now told him. "Remove your sword and be at ease. We have much to talk about. You have missed your dinner, my fledgling, and you must be hungry. I shall call for food and drink that you and I may dine alone and enjoy some private conversation."

Boromir's eyes lit up. "Aye, a fine idea! I am eager to learn of your adventures since leaving The White City."

"As I am longing to hear of yours, Captain of the White Tower." I watched him flash a soft, triumphant smile. "We may be here well into the night."

XXXXXXXXXX

Thorongil! I could scarcely believe it. Thorongil. My Thorongil.

When he'd embraced me earlier I'd nearly shed the tears that clouded my eyes. Instead I lowered my head to his shoulder, fighting for control, trying to not shame myself or embarrass him, and yet I could do nothing less than be fully honest with this man who held me so closely. I told him that I'd missed him.

Memories, rich and dizzying flowed through me, wondrous, but also bittersweet. A deep sorrow lurked beneath my skin, forcing my heart to race. Tears kept threatening, tears of remembered anguish in losing someone so dear to me, and the torment of having no power to control that certainty.

But I quickly shoved such thoughts to one side, for here he stood, embracing me, this man I'd cherished in my little boy's heart so long ago! Thorongil. My Thorongil.

I was delighted with his suggestion that we spend the evening talking and dining alone. I suddenly felt starved, having been away from the settlement since morning, and I felt equally starved to hear all he felt willing to share about himself since we had parted so many years ago. He clearly seemed eager to learn of my deeds as well, so much so that he bid me begin first, insisting that he wanted every detail.

"Come," he said, "tell me how my mischievous little fledgling grew to become a great Captain of the White Tower. And leave nothing out."

I did my best. My years spent growing from the boy he had known to the man I'd become had been exacting and often embittering. But overall, I was satisfied with them and with what I had been able to achieve. I felt a certain pride in my accomplishments and in the glory of Gondor, its years of splendor made possible through the dedicated service of our warriors and of the leadership of my father.

It was true, however, that Gondor had fallen onto harder times of late. The building strength of Mordor had slowly begun to penetrate the hearts and minds of my people. I'd spoken the truth at Elrond's Council – Gondor was the first line of defense for the lands of Middle Earth, and though we were once a mighty force, we were becoming beaten down.

But I would not speak of that at the moment. Aragorn had asked for a personal account of myself and my life, so that was what I would gladly share with him, for this was a time of reunion, and I delighted in the intimacy of it. So we took seats before the fire, a small round table between us, and I began to speak.

Aragorn listened, clear-eyed and attentive, smiling gently at times, but ever with his gaze fastened upon me, absorbing every word. He often nodded slightly, a whisper of a grin on his lips and a look of fond approval in his eyes that sent my heart soaring and encouraged me to speak proudly on, longing to see that look again.

Several times I heard my own words, and I paused, realizing how eager to impress I sounded, much like that little boy Aragorn said he saw in me. He caught my eye when I hesitated, and he smiled quietly, indulgently, I swear reading my every thought. He did so with increased sharpness when Faramir entered my chronicle.

Halfway through our dinner he suddenly said, "Tell me more of this little brother you esteem so highly. Your love for him is strong. Why did he not join you on your journey here?"

I glanced up at him and found that calm understanding in his gaze, and I knew that he had sensed my feelings of frustration and remorse, even though I thought I had hidden that ache well. Aye, he was too discerning, and I suppose the grief I felt when speaking of Faramir would not escape his notice, although I knew I'd never be able to fully express the extent of that grief. I fell silent for a few moments, wondering how to begin, how much to say.

Aragorn waited patiently, then he said, "He was born the year after I left?"

"Aye." I nodded, idly poking with my knife at the contents of my plate. "When I was five years old. Faramir . . . Faramir is bright and courageous and well-appointed."

"You are very alike then."

I caught and returned his grin, flushing at the notion. "Nay, my lord. Faramir and I are very different in many ways. There is so much about Faramir to be admired I scarce know where to begin." I lowered my gaze, thinking of my brother's ready smile and modest laugh and his bashful, self-effacing manner. How to describe him? How to do him justice? Finally I simply started talking:

"Faramir is quiet in nature, good and kind-hearted, almost to a fault. He has far more patience than I do, and his skills are more subtle and complex than grand and showy, like mine are. He was always a good student, far better than I was, so he is splendidly well-spoken, with a gift for diplomacy. And he has a fondness for music, and he has a talent for storytelling and lore and . . . and . . . ."

Aragorn grinned. "You are describing him admirably, my fledgling. Go on."

I glanced at him, still feeling I hadn't said enough, but unable to think of what more to say. Then I recalled one very important thing -- "Ah! I near forgot! Faramir can see into men's hearts, like our father, though he does not judge them harshly, the way Denethor does. And he is blessed with the Sight – he dreams visions."

Aragorn's brow went up, and a shimmer of affection for him shot through me. It seemed he really understood my little brother, and admired him as well, just from listening to me speak of him. Encouraged, I went on:

"Faramir is also a fine warrior, most able and quick with a bow, and an excellent strategist and leader of men. He Captains the Ithilien Rangers, an elite guard that watches over our borders. But he, well, Faramir does not glory in battle."

A sudden flash of anger erupted within me, that familiar heartache surfacing. I dropped my gaze and said, "My little brother never hesitates to do his duty. Aye, he has at times needed my help, but any Captain in such a situation would need such help! Faramir always, always strives to do his best and to do what is right, but . . . ." I took a breath, struggling to calm myself, knowing Aragorn was watching me closely.

"Faramir is of a gentler nature than I am," I finally added. "He would sooner solve disagreements with words than with swords. That is an admirable quality, is it not?"

He nodded slowly. "Most admirable, my fledgling."

I looked up at him again, and said, "Aye, you see the truth of it, as do I, as do many others who appreciate and love my brother for the good man that he is. But to others . . . ."

I turned to gaze at the fire, my throat tight and sore, something big and hurtful seething and raging within my chest, just below the surface of my skin, at a level wherein I could control it, but just barely. I glanced down to see my knife trembling in my aching hand, and I relaxed my grip and went on:

"To-To certain others, those who are blinded by stupidity and would see no value in him regardless of what he does . . . to those others my beloved little brother seems weak and faint-hearted and of little worth. But it is not true!"

"But you support Faramir with your love, and you care for him and protect him," Aragorn said, his tone gentle. "You have ever protected him."

"Aye!" I shot back. "From those too lackwitted to see his value!"

"Like Denethor?"

I stared at him, struggling to find words for a despair so great I rarely let myself fully feel it. I finally muttered, "Aye," and I was able to utter no further word on the matter.

Aragorn looked as though he hadn't expected me to be able to do so. He merely lowered his eyes to my plate and gave my remaining dinner a nod and said, "You must finish, my fledgling."

Strange how comforting his quiet, simple command was. Somehow it calmed me. The comment was something one would say to a child, and a sudden memory flashed forth

"_Finish eating, Boromir."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because it is your duty. You need to grow big and strong if you plan to be a great warrior of Gondor one day. Eat, sir."_

"_Even those green things?"_

"_Aye, even those." _

"_But they are nasty, Thorongil."_

"_Nevertheless. Duty requires it, little one."_

"_Sometimes I do not like duty, Thorongil."_

"_I dare say."_

I grinned at the memory, then to my utter shock, Aragorn suddenly said, "Eat, sir. Duty requires it."

I gasped and shot him a stunned look and he burst into a chuckle, grinning a positively roguish grin. I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing as well, my heaviness of heart instantly vanishing. Of course, I sputtered out the only reply I could:

"Sometimes I do not like duty, Thorongil."

"I dare say."

And we laughed again. I paused a bit before obeying just to gaze at him admiringly, and then I did as he ordered, saying, "Now I would hear of you."

His life told like a fanciful legend. He told it humbly, almost apologetically, downgrading his heroism through much of it as though uncomfortable with his valor and his own deeds. Such a life he'd led! I found myself inwardly squirming at what suddenly seemed like bluster on my part when I'd been speaking, but he hadn't seemed to think as much, so I tried to diminish the feeling.

When he finished, then chuckled at my amazement, shrugging off his heroic deeds yet again, we spoke on, enjoying each other's company. Hours later, long after our dinner remains had been taken away, when the room glowed warmly with firelight and a cloud of smoke from his pipe hovered white and sweet-smelling above us, we still sat talking quietly. I could not recall the last time I'd felt so content, so . . . safe. I had certainly never felt like this in Denethor's presence, even though I was the one he doted upon, while poor Faramir . . . .

No! I would not slip into that torment again! Not now. Not while sitting here, sharing the company of this compelling man. I had felt at ease with Aragorn this whole time, even when we paused for occasional breaks, saying nothing. We would sit quietly, watching the fire, and then one of us would start talking again, casually, as if suddenly recalling more that we wanted to say . . . so much to say.

Ethereal voices blending in song now floated through the darkness outside.

"The elves are singing in the Hall of Fire," Aragorn said. "The fires burn all year there. Songs are sung and great tales are told long into the night." He gave me a lazy smile. "Tonight we share our own Hall of Fire, little fledgling."

I chuckled softly. "How can you continue to call me that?" I asked, though I was surprised to notice that I didn't mind it at all.

"It suits you."

"Indeed it does not!" I returned, still grinning. "Do I look like a little fledgling to you?"

He shifted his gaze to me and said with gentle seriousness, "Indeed. I still say the name suits you."

Stubborn man! I laughed again. "It does not!"

"It does."

"No, it does not!" Not that I cared, but he could be truly vexing.

A short silence followed.

"Boromir," he finally said, gazing levelly at me, "it does."

I stared at him, ready to object again, but a suddenly smoldering undercurrent in his manner and something glittering in his steady gaze made me pause.

It was unsettling. I did not like it. My throat felt dry and I swallowed hard. And then I drew a calming breath. This was simple enough to explain. His stubbornly determined air had simply . . . surprised me. Few ever dared give me such a look. I was unaccustomed to it. Little wonder I'd been startled to silence. His reaction had surprised me and I did not like it and I was unaccustomed to such treatment and this suddenly seemed a silly thing to bicker over, even in good sport.

Of course, the issue itself was not what had mattered. The confrontation had, and the outcome. But I decided to be gracious about this. Ridiculous small matter. I smirked and shrugged, feigning indifference. I'd fashioned a casual response when he spoke again:

"It pleases me to call you that." His gaze softened and he cast me his ready, winning smile. "But fear not, little fledgling. I shall try to refrain from doing so in front of others."

Well. There was a comfort indeed.

I considered my reply. Unbefitting though it was, I genuinely did not mind him calling me by that name. It even felt oddly soothing. A strange warmth stirred in my chest to think that Aragorn wanted to use that endearment, that it pleased him to preserve that affection between us. But images of how four blithesome hobbits might respond to hearing Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, called 'little fledgling' made my cheeks burn. And if that comely elf ever heard it! The burn now seared!

"You do not mind it so very much, though, do you?" he suddenly asked, and his glance told me that he already knew the answer.

Again I was thrown, and I heard myself blurting out the honest truth, "No, my lord."

He smiled suddenly. "You are a great lord yourself now, Boromir, as I once told you you would be. Do you remember that day?"

"Of course," I replied.

Did I remember that day? Aye, alas, the memory lived. I might not have recognized Aragorn as Thorongil, but I would never forget him leaving. After he'd ridden away I'd cried myself into a stupor and my father had glared at me for days, thoroughly ashamed by my behavior. And oh, the pain of his disapproval! I felt it still, like a stab upon an old wound that had never fully healed.

My heart quickened, fierce memories slamming into me: Thorongil, abandoning me for something better, my despair and my bewilderment, my confusion as to what I had done to make him want to take his leave. Surely I had done something wrong. I'd made him want to go away. My fault . . . my failing.

Then came my father's condemnation of my tears, the shame I felt at disgracing him, my sudden loneliness and uncertainty and fear and my anguish and longing for Thorongil, for his strong arms and his understanding gaze and his patient willingness to explain things to me. The pain of it had been shattering, and I had decided then and there to do whatever I must, be whatever I needed to be in order to avoid ever feeling that way again.

I studied Aragorn now from the corner of my eye. He stared at the fire as though working out some plan. What could he be thinking about? The quest, no doubt. I pondered what it must feel like to be who he was, Isildur's Heir, a king without his throne, a wanderer, living in self-imposed exile. In a way, I could imagine it . . . but then again, I could not.

A shadow returned to my mind, the feeling that Aragorn seemed neither ready nor willing to embrace his destiny. After what he had told me, I had to credit some of his mysterious reluctance to his upbringing. From the age of two he had lived here in Rivendell with his mother, becoming Lord Elrond's adopted son and raised amongst these elves. He was probably more akin to elves than to men in thought and feeling.

So how could Aragorn understand the needs of his own people after spending his most tender years learning from these serene folk? The early lessons are the most important and from what I had seen this was not an ideal place to raise a young human warrior, a future king of men.

Still, the elves had indeed taught Aragorn well. Amongst his own people, during his days as Thorongil in the service of my grandfather, Aragorn had been a great warrior and leader, so I could hardly question his upbringing. But could these elves have given a man the same sense of duty to his people that he might have learned surrounded by his own kind? Of course, his years with the Rangers needed to be considered . . . he was such an enigma.

But, in truth, all this meant little, to me at present. Aragorn was yet the Thorongil I loved, and that was all that mattered to me. Perhaps he was a man questioning his destiny, but Aragorn was no less the valiant hero I'd loved, and loved still, even if he was a man in search of himself.

I did, however, wonder briefly how he viewed this question of the Ring. I remembered my thoughts from earlier that day, before I'd known Aragorn was Thorongil, thoughts that he could possibly be convinced to favor Gondor's cause. And it suddenly occurred to me that, although Denethor had hurt my poor brother deeply yet again by his heartless scorn, my father had been right to insist I travel to Rivendell instead of Faramir. My stomach fluttered and shivers danced along my veins.

This had gone far better than I could ever have dreamed.

I, not Faramir, had a childhood bond with Aragorn, a bond that stood strong even to this day, therefore I now enjoyed a unique position to effect the course of our journey. I could yet gain the Ring for Gondor! If Aragorn could be influenced by anyone, I was best suited to that task.

A sudden horror slammed into me! What was I thinking? How could I take advantage of our old attachment? It was unseemly to even contemplate such a thing! What kind of man was I to consider dishonoring the memory of all Thorongil had been to me merely for gain?

I struggled to work this out . . . did it come down to a choice between defiling that memory by using it to sway Aragorn and hopefully gain the Ring for Gondor, or to honor our past connection and thereby abandon all hope for Gondor? There had to be an answer. I narrowed my eyes at the fire, thinking.

Perhaps I could help Aragorn and Gondor both. Even the strongest men sometimes failed to consider the best possible outcome or to make the most learned decision. I'd often won Denethor's admiration and regard by challenging him openly, confronting him with what he may not have considered or did not wish to hear. Risking his disapproval sometimes brought a sweet reward. Even if he chose not to agree with me, Denethor had at least respected my courage in opposing him. So, oddly enough, a bit of insubordination had often worked in my favor.

"What goes through your mind, my fledgling? You have the look of mischief to you."

I flinched and glanced at Aragorn. He sat watching me with that soft, agreeable smile and a gaze of pure affection. I recognized the look. He used it often with the hobbits. I squirmed, astounded that I could feel so immediately and deeply touched by that look.

"Ah," he murmured, "I see I am right. You still go silent when you are caught planning naughtiness."

Naughtiness? Of all the irksome words! The man could be exasperating.

I flashed him an exaggerated frown, saying, "Aragorn, for pity's sake, I am a full-grown man! I am no longer a boy, nor am I an impish hobbit." Heaving an indignant sigh, I then muttered, "I hope you also plan to save this patronizing treatment for when we are alone, or the others will never learn to respect my authority."

He sobered so suddenly I instantly felt I'd been overly harsh. I'd begun to call up an apology, but just as suddenly he said, "_Your_ authority?"

A hot spark shot through me. Again, that feeling I did not like surged forth.

"Aye, well, my authority as such . . . . " No words formed in my head.

"I do not understand."

Shifting in my seat I replied, "Well, what I mean to say is . . . the authority due me as . . . the authority any commander . . . I mean, any . . . any . . . . As I am certain you agree . . . . "

I sounded absurd.

Aragorn studied me, waiting. My throat went so dry I had to swallow hard. I did not like this feeling!

He wasn't doing anything but watching me, patiently, without emotion, without a frown of disapproval or judgment. Yet I could not calm my hammering heart, nor could I seem to find my tongue.

Releasing another low grunt from the back of his throat, Aragorn stood and moved to the hearth, cleaning his pipe as he had before and laying it again on the mantle. Then he turned to me again, his eyes bright with an alarming gleam.

"This is the very matter I came to speak with you about," he said.

My absurdity held. "What matter?"

The alarming gleam deepened. "Before we leave Rivendell you and I need to reach an understanding, Boromir. I refer to the chain of command within our Fellowship."

It was my turn to watch him silently.

"Frodo directs this quest," Aragorn went on. "As Ringbearer he decides our course. My role is to support Frodo in any way I can."

"As I understand it, that is a role we all share."

"Indeed. However, it is important that you also understand that, while Gandalf guides our course and Frodo bears the Ring, I am to be obeyed in all other matters."

I sat transfixed, wondering when this matter of leadership had been decided. And for reasons surpassing my understanding, I became slightly . . . vexed.

"Do you understand what I mean?"

"Aye," I replied, trying to avoid feeling insulted.

"What do I mean?"

I wrestled my temper and promptly lost. "Surely you must know."

He simply watched me, a far more effective method of making me squirm than if he'd become aggravated by my discourtesy.

In truth I didn't mean to challenge his authority. Not much. I was, for the most part, willing to concede it to him. In my heart, Thorongil yet lived in Aragorn and I meant no disrespect. But I couldn't help feeling a little vexed by his condescension. It felt almost as if he was trying to provoke me, a ridiculous notion I dismissed at once.

I simply had a desire to show him that I could be of use, that my opinions should be heard, and that I deserved a say in all matters. I had much useful experience as Captain of the Guard, and I felt that this quest would benefit from two strong leaders, if for no other reason than to keep the dwarf and the elf from slaying each other. For now, though, I would give him the answer he still awaited.

Stubborn, stubborn man.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You mean that you have assumed command of the Fellowship, and that your authority is to be recognized and your orders obeyed."

He said it with a sigh of annoyance and a veneer of control so thin that a slight tap might have shattered it. But that veneer would shatter when I chose to tap it. For now I had just flicked it lightly to test its strength, and my fledgling's impertinence was firmly in place.

I thought carefully, anxious to deal with everything at once and fully aware that Boromir had no idea the depth of all he had revealed to me. I had ached to comfort him immediately, yet I knew what he needed most while he spoke was my attention and my restraint. So I had struggled throughout the evening, wishing I had Denethor before me to answer for his cruelty to both his sons and fighting down my own ferocious regrets at having left Boromir when he had been so young and unable to understand.

But I had reined in my desires thus far, so I could practice control a bit longer for his sake. I had a specific purpose to accomplish tonight. I would handle this carefully. I would do this right. My fledgling deserved no less.

As for his so called 'answer' I merely 'hmmed,' returned to my chair, sat and faced him, saying, "I know this shall likely prove difficult for you. You have much experience as a leader, so accepting a subordinate role shall be hard. I do understand, and before we go on I wish to say that the Fellowship is fortunate to be joined by a warrior such as you. You are invaluable. I can think of no other I would sooner choose for the quest, and even more so after this night. I am glad of your company, Boromir."

He watched me, his eyes growing wider with my every word. He looked plainly fascinated at my change in tone, wondering at it, and waiting with wary curiosity to see where I planned to go next. I had meant every word, though, and he needed to hear them, needed to know that I saw his value and was thankful for his companionship before this discussion became more difficult for him.

"However," I continued, "there are some basic matters you must fully understand and accept before we move any further, for despite your obvious devotion to a warrior's code of ethics, you do possess a mutinous air, my fledgling. I am certain you know of what I speak. You have felt it, have you not, this inner struggle when I give you an order?"

He hesitated, a just response to feeling a bit cornered, but he was honest. "Aye," he finally muttered.

"When you issue orders to your men you expect them to be obeyed."

"Aye."

"As do I. Soon we shall be out in the wild. The others, Gimli, Gandalf and Legolas are all well seasoned in the ways of battle --"

He interrupted me with a snort of contempt. At my expectant look he said, "Legolas? Seasoned?" Another snort.

"Ah, I see," I said, surprised that he would be so openly insulting of someone he knew I regarded highly. A clear, if covert, affront. His inner distress was beginning to surface.

"Do not underestimate the elves. Think of your ancient lore. You may not have had many dealings with these folk, nor care for them and the strangeness of their ways, but do not judge them simply by their looks. Legolas is an old and dear friend, and he is ruthless in battle. Look deeper, my fledgling. Do not be taken in by appearances."

He dropped his gaze, flushing, obviously troubled by his own intolerance and even more troubled that he had displayed it to me and been scolded for it. Ah, well. This was going to be an evening of painful lessons for my fledgling.

"Perhaps you feel that after this night of renewing old bonds it will be easier for you to accept my leadership," I continued.

Boromir drew a long breath and let it out slowly, his jaw working. He truly was trying to cooperate, hard as this had to be for him. "Perhaps."

"And then again, perhaps not." He shifted in his seat again. "Boromir, when I issue orders I expect to be obeyed. Can you do that?"

His color deepened. "Of course. I have done so."

"You have done so, aye, but whether you are aware of it or not, you resent the subordinate role enough for it to be plain. True, you have not confronted me openly, but much can be said by way of an underlying hostility. I fear that soon your enmity will become so profound the others will begin to detect it, if indeed they have not already begun to do so, despite the fact that, at present, you disguise your displeasure in softer raiment."

Immediately he squared off, ready to object, but I quickly added, "Boromir, of course you resent having to submit to a higher authority. You are accustomed to command. And, although this night has meant much to us both, I see no reason to believe it will change your nature."

He shot up and paced a few steps, then spun to face me, sputtering, "Why do you think tha --"

"Sir," I said firmly, "I did not, 'assume' command as you scornfully implied. Such language suggests that I forcibly seized the position regardless of what others might think. The position, in fact, was awarded me, yielded me by all, understood and accepted by all because I am the one best suited to it. So you see, this night has not fully driven all thoughts of rebellion from you."

He clearly ached to challenge my statement, but he was unable to do so. His disquietude grew, a flurry of emotions crossing his strong features whilst he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, plainly bewildered and uncertain as to what to do with himself, reminding me yet again of that little boy of old, as he had so often this night. I felt for him, but we had far yet to go.

"Sit down," I said. "We are not finished."

He glanced at me as though I had just announced his doom, but he obeyed. He would certainly rally his defenses, but I was ready. I waited a few moments, letting him settle himself, before I spoke again.

"We needs settle this matter now, before it becomes worse."

He made no response.

"It will indeed become worse."

Again, no reply.

"Do you not agree?"

His few nods were small and grudging.

"I did not hear you."

He raised his head with a snarl and snapped, "AYE! I-I don't know that I agree with all you have said, but, aye! All right! Very well! If indeed something needs to be settled as you say, let us do so now!"

I allowed a suitable silence to build, his harsh words hanging heavily in the room, then I said in a stern tone, "Look at me, sir."

He closed his eyes as if this was absolutely more than he would bear, but then he opened them quickly and fired me a furious look.

"Do I look like a hobbit?"

Boromir went scarlet, dropping his gaze to glare at the table. "No, sir."

"Boromir!" He shot me a quick look ere I could issue him yet another order to do so. "No, I am not a hobbit, so do not snarl at me. Address me with courtesy and respect, as I do you. And I trust you shall choose to treat all others with the same respect, be they man, elf, dwarf or little hobbit."

My poor fledgling was positively red-faced. It was difficult to watch him suffer a humiliation he had brought upon himself. I did not enjoy this. But I wouldst not permit Boromir to treat anyone with such disrespect. Earlier today when he had barked at Pippin, Boromir had wounded himself as much as he had wounded the little one, perhaps even more so. Aye, this was difficult for both of us. But I was committed to doing for Boromir what needed to be done. So I waited, watching him wage war within himself, struggling to let him work this out, and ready to respond in any number of ways.

My fledgling was made of strong stuff. He cast a long sideways glare at the fire, closed his eyes and opened them slowly, then turned to me. "Please forgive me, my lord," he said, coldly dispassionate. "I was unmannerly and spoke with disrespectful harshness. I am sorry."

Again, he surprised me. Of course he was fairly quivering with unspoken bitterness, his words a bit shaky, but it surprised me that he had been able to say them at all.

I longed to jump up and haul him from his chair and hug him senseless, but I merely smiled and said, "'Tis alright, my fledgling. You are forgiven. Think no more on't."

He released a breath and shifted his shoulders. They looked stiff and tight. I imagined they were by now. "Pippin needs to hear those words from you as well," I told him. "Do you not agree?"

He nodded. "Aye. I'll see to it tomorrow."

"Good." I grinned suddenly. "You know, for all you disdain Legolas, the two of you have much in common." He frowned at me, clearly having never expected to have heard such a thing, nor particularly happy to be hearing it. I chuckled. "He has a fearful temper and little control over it as you saw in council."

My words affected him as I had hoped. He stared at me, his eyes wide, then he burst out laughing. I went on: "I feared he would not be able to sit still without jumping up and losing his elvish reserve. Especially when he was seated so closely to the dwarves."

We both chuckled in short bursts, Boromir releasing some of his tension nicely. I felt a twinge of guilt, making my beloved elfling the subject of some teasing when he was not there to defend himself, but I accepted the swat of self-reproach. I was speaking nothing but the truth.

"I kept waiting for them to come to blows," Boromir said. "Although it was he who held back his companions when they shot to their feet."

"True, and I could scarce believe it. I was proud of him."

"Well, he'd already been admonished once by you in front of all. I vow he did not wish to invite more."

"I regretted having to do so, but I had not expected that he would turn his ill-temper upon my fledgling."

"Insolent elf!"

"Ohhh," I grinned and gazed off fondly. "He has ever been so."

Boromir quieted, relaxed now. He studied me with interest, clearly curious about my fond gaze. "You have known each other long," he asked, endearingly casual.

"Aye," I grinned again, softly. "A long time. Legolas and I have traveled many paths together."

My fledgling became even more charmingly jealous, asking with veiled, barely controlled envy, "And does this proud prince of Mirkwood ever rebel against your authority? He backed down easily enough in council."

Aye, Legolas had indeed backed down, but not before he had behaved badly, disrupting the fragile peace of Elrond's Council. Part of me itched to inform Boromir that Legolas had already answered to me for his little show of temper, and that my elfling was at this moment likely spending an uncomfortable evening standing up in the Hall of Fire.

Revealing to Boromir that Legolas sometimes ended up over my knee might have made this easier for both of us. He would have perhaps been comforted in knowing that he was not alone in this, that the proud elf already submitted to it.

I spanked Legolas for his often ill-planned choices and his wayward temper and for reasons that had to do with a need for attention, but he did not challenge my authority. If my temperamental elf stayed true to his nature on our quest, Boromir might learn his secret, but I would not break that trust to make my present task easier.

"Legolas sometimes rebels, but he seldom needs to be reminded of who is in charge."

Boromir nodded and a silence fell. I could let this go no longer. But, as he ever seemed able to do, my fledgling surprised me yet again.

"I know how you remind the hobbits who is in charge," he suddenly murmured.

I cast him a glance. He kept his gaze on the fire and said, "You spank them."

I watched him in silent astonishment.

"I overheard them talking several days ago," he went on. "I was sitting in a grove, near a statue that was overgrown with thick foliage, so I was hidden from their view when they happened by, chattering as they often do. I couldn't see them, but I-I accidentally heard what they were saying."

"Go on."

He narrowed his eyes, gazing off as though watching what had happened and flushing slightly. "Sam wanted to stop and let Frodo rest on a stone bench nearby, but Frodo insisted he was fine and he told Sam to stop fussing, and Merry laughed and said that he knew why Frodo didn't want to sit on that stone bench, to which Pip of course asked why."

I smiled to myself, remembering the day exactly and knowing how Frodo's bottom became so sore.

"Sam insisted that Frodo needed a rest," Boromir continued. "He said, _'Here, Mr. Frodo, you can sit here on my lap, nice and cushioned.' _Merry howled with laughter and said, _'Sam, you grow more Tookish everyday! Frodo doesn't want near any laps right now. Do you, Frodo?'_"

I chuckled and Boromir grinned in spite of himself. Still staring off, he went on.

"Pippin was now beside himself. He demanded to know what was going on, and then, suddenly, he paused in mid-fuss and said, _'Oh. Oh, I see. Oh, dear! Poor Frodo!'_ I was about to go find out what was wrong with the little one, see if he needed any help, but Frodo quickly said, _'Pip, stop it. I'm fine.' _But Pippin pressed on, saying, _'Was it a bad one, Frodo? I mean, a long one?' _

"Sam now sounded close to clouting Pip. _'For pity's sake,' _he cried. _'Leave him alone! Can't you see he's blushing enough?' _And then Merry said, _'They're all bad ones, you Took.'_ And Pippin muttered, _'Aye, that's true.'_"

I had not stopped chuckling since he began. "Go on!" I again implored.

"Well, by now my curiosity was burning, and I nearly stepped out to ask them what they were yammering about, but a moment later Frodo said, calmly, _'It was a spanking, Pip, like any we've all had from Strider from time to time. And, yes, my backside is sore right now, but it always is for awhile after he's spanked me. I'll be fine.'_"

Boromir paused to shake his head in amazement. "I was sure I had not heard them aright, but then they went on! Pip said, _'Aye, true, we've all suffered Strider's expert spankings. But some seem worse to me than others.'_ They all agreed to this, and then they started discussing which 'Strider spankings' were the most memorable for each of them!"

'Strider spankings!' I laughed loudly. That would have been an interesting discussion. Boromir gazed at me with mildly amused astonishment. "To hear them talk! Do you spank these little ones every day?"

It took me a moment to recover from laughing anew at that. Finally I shook my head and choked out, "Nay, o-only when needed, but that does seem to be often."

Boromir was now laughing aloud, too. It felt good, sharing such merriment with him. We had been struggling though difficult matters, with bigger matters yet to come, so this bit of enjoyment was most welcome. The little ones had once again charmed my path.

"You tell a story well, sir," I said, our chuckling winding down. "And I do discipline the hobbits in just that way, as you may find yourself wanting and needing to do sometime."

"Spank a hobbit?" He looked startled.

"Indeed. It might be the very thing they need from you, sir."

"I could never sp --"

"Do you care about them?" I asked. "Would you do anything you could to see they obeyed you and therefore remained safe?"

He paused and thought for a moment. "Aye."

"Does it seem overly harsh to you? After all, they may look like children, but they are adults . . . at least, I think Pippin is an adult." I knit my brow, pondering. "I am not certain of that."

Again, he thought this over. Then Boromir fired me a glance, his eyes widening fast. He shot to his feet and began to wander aimlessly and with sudden edginess. "Well, n-no . . . no it doesn't seem overly harsh. True, though not children from what I have seen thus far they sometimes act like little boys."

"Naughty little boys."

He stopped and fired me a frown. "That's a wretched word, Aragorn."

I chuckled. "But to the point." Grinning at his wince, I said, "The first time I spanked them they were furious before hand. Then, after I had finished with each one and they all were comforted and sore-bottomed, they promptly fell asleep."

Boromir watched me, stunned. "They fell asleep?"

"They were exhausted and frightened and alone, with no direction and no one to guide their next move. I had been watching for them, knowing they were due to arrive in Bree, and that Gandalf was not there to meet them. I had to get them and the Ring safely here."

A sudden memory surged forth – Frodo, small and wary and utterly beautiful, sitting hunched over in that dark common room, a lost sweet lamb amongst a rowdy pack of hungry wolves. I shook my head. "You should have seen them, Boromir. Four halflings in that dangerous Inn, alone and acting like --"

"Heedless halflings," he said in a hushed voice, resuming his seat with a groan of dismay, his eyes full of dread.

"Aye. And they tried to challenge me."

He made a sound of disbelief. "No. They did not!"

"Aye."

"Faith! The little bratlings!"

"Mmm. Of course, I was a stranger, and a scruffy-looking stranger, so they were simply being cautious. But I could not hope to safely transport four insubordinate hobbits all the way here without establishing some discipline from the start. I had to assume authority over them."

Boromir froze, his gaze locked on mine. It seemed he was barely breathing. Then he shot to his feet once more, again too flustered to be still, pacing a short path, his arms stiff at his sides, ending in tight fists. He anxiously cleared his throat with a feigned cough, and said, "Well, perhaps I was wrong."

"You were not wrong."

"After all, they are, as you say, adults."

"What does being an adult have to do with this?"

"Spanking them does seem overly harsh."

"Boromir."

"They needed to be treated with honor and, and dignity."

"They needed to understand what would happen should they rebel, my fledgling. They needed to know that I would not tolerate them endangering themselves or any of us because of stubbornness or foolishness. They needed to know that I was in charge."

I stood and blocked his path and grabbed him by his muscled arms to halt his mad pacing. Holding him steady, I looked at him and said, "And, just as importantly, they needed to know that I was concerned for them. I honored them with my care and attention." I sighed. "Indeed, I should have disciplined them more, because it was their disobedience that resulted in Frodo's stabbing and near-death."

Boromir scowled and shot back, "But to use such a method! You could have simply demanded that they accept your authority and that would have been enough!"

Ah. Finally. My opening.

"Is it enough for you?"

Boromir simply stared at me, his mouth open slightly. Then in a small voice he murmured, "Aye."

I watched him. "Is it, my fledgling?"

He made no reply.

"Boromir," I said calmly, "it is one thing to say you accept something, to know in your mind why it is necessary, but it is another thing to accept it in your heart and take it deep inside of you."

I felt him trembling. He shook his head ever so slightly, seemingly dazed, yet in his glistening eyes I saw an understanding he could not conceal. But he was appalled, and a moment later he pulled back from me as though my touch burned him. I released his arms, but I held his gaze.

"As you do with Legolas, you also have much in common with the little ones. They needed to be shown who was in charge and so do you, my fledgling. I intend to see it done so that no question of my authority remains in your mind."

"A-Aragorn . . . ." He stared at me. "You cannot mean to --"

"I do."

"Y-You cannot be serious!"

"I am."

He breathed a soft, "No. I shall not permit you --"

I gave him a quiet, knowing grin. "Aye. You shall permit it. You are a man of good sense, and you see the sense of this, although you wish you did not. Boromir, I care about you as much as I care about the halflings, and I plan to do everything possible to see that no harm comes to you. Aye, this shall be hard, but it shall be done, now, and as often as is needed."

He flinched at that, his gaze becoming even more startled. I continued casting him a soft grin, and I took hold of his arm right behind the elbow, saying, "Deny it to yourself if you like, but deep inside you know that I am right in this, and you know that what I am about to do is just. So come, my wise little fledgling. Do not give me trouble. Accept what must be."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Boromir."

"Not much further."

"You said that a while ago, young sir."

"Almost there."

"If I have to ask again we shall stop and attend to matters here in the middle of this path."

I did not care to imagine how he thought to do that.

"Or, we will return to your chambers and I shall attend to you as I am beginning to think I should have last night."

"Please, Aragorn, not much further. Look! This is where I left the path yesterday morning."

He released the dissatisfied grunt I was coming to know all too well. "And how long must we now battle through this forest?"

"The hidden glade I told you of is not far."

"You said that a while ago, young sir."

But we truly were almost there, and as I led Aragorn through Rivendell's now somewhat familiar hinterland I tried to keep from thinking of why we were headed for the secluded grove I'd spent most of yesterday pacing.

I could scarce believe this was happening. I couldn't fathom what he was about to do to me, what he'd nearly done to me last night before I'd shamelessly begged him for quarter --

He had already taken a firm grip on my arm and was leading me to the bed when I shook from my daze, panic smacking into me. Not only did he mean to do this at that very moment, but he was also planning to position me as he had when I was a boy of four – upended and over his lap! And would he lower my breeches as well? Probably so! I went breathless with fear.

I would sooner have faced all the orcs in Mordor than to submit to this! I had sought some way to gainsay him, something other than I was a warrior, an adult, a respected Captain of Gondor and, and, and . . . I did not want to be spanked!

But Aragorn's detestable reasoning was sound, curse his loathsome Ranger's hide. He'd masterfully woven me right into the fabric of his flawless design. I had even provided him some thread with my little tale of hobbit spankings. Then he'd finished me off by appealing to my sense of integrity and fairness. I'd desperately wished I had neither.

Vile, obstinate, clever man! Nevertheless, Aragorn was right – his authority must be absolute. I'd shuddered, knowing what my agreement meant and what he demanded I now face. Worst of all, I knew that I would indeed submit to it.

But at that moment when panic hit, my stomach clenched, instinct had surged forth and I'd yanked my arm from Aragorn's grasp.

He had paused and turned to me with raised brows and a look of mild perplexity and I'd just stood there, gaping at him, too overcome to speak. Of course, I had no argument to offer him. But I'd seen Faramir in that spanking position often enough to conjure a fine image of what was about to take place and, well, panic is panic. That vision was all that filled my mind, making integrity and fairness costly notions.

Aragorn gave me a quiet smile full of understanding that fairly murmured, _'I know you did not intend to do so foolhardy a thing as pull away from me, my fledgling, so we shall not speak of it. Now, come.'_ And he again took my arm and began hauling me towards the bed.

Again I'd panicked, dug in my heels, and blurted, "Aragorn, no, please! Not here! Not in my chambers!"

He seemed less than pleased. "Boromir --"

"Please! I grant you all of what you are saying! I do! And I shall submit to-to-to . . . this. Valar help me, I shall! But-But . . . ." I rasped on in a hushed voice as though all of Rivendell was listening. "Please, just not here! There are too many others about, others who may . . . may . . . ."

"Hear something?" He studied me with interest. "Do you plan to make a ruckus?"

"No!"

"Pippin makes a dreadful ruckus."

"I do not plan to make a --"

"Two or three swats and he is already starting to bellow."

I huffed an indignant sigh. Bellow indeed! I had resolved to not make a sound, not one solitary sound. But then, I had no way of knowing what to expect, and I strongly desired more privacy than my chambers afforded for whatever this detestable Ranger's efforts might enkindle. "I assure you, sir, I certainly do not intend to bel --"

"I vow, all of Rivendell knows it when Master Took is over my knee."

Oh, he was really having fun now. I groaned and tried to stop listening with the result that I listened all the more.

"Later, when Pip has recovered, the more sympathetic elves will pat his little bottom and offer words of solace as he passes."

"Aragorn --"

"He seems comforted."

"Please, sir!" He paused. "I beseech you!" I said hurriedly. "This – this . . . beleaguering . . . ." I paused to sigh, then: "I shall submit to . . . to your discipline. I shall. But, please, I beg you, not here. And your jesting tone, sir, I . . . th-this is difficult enough as it is."

Immediately his gaze softened. "Forgive me. I wouldst not make this more difficult for you, my fledgling. But exactly what do you suggest?"

Panic shook me again and I thundered, "I do not know!"

He frowned. Sincerely. "Your tone, Boromir," he finally said. "I understand that you are distraught, but this is no time to test my patience."

"Nor do I intend to do so," I replied with far more composure than I felt. "And I apologize for my tone. I have no other solution to this, but surely there must be something . . . ."

He sighed and glanced outside. "We shall find no privacy in the dark of night. Torches light the pathways and gardens, and I do not think you want this to take place under torchlight."

Torchlight! Whilst stumbling back to the settlement earlier I had longed for a torch - I knew of a private place! But, would he . . . . ?

"Aragorn, must we do this now?" I blurted . "Right now?"

He looked at me.

"I know a secluded place where we can go, but we will needs wait until daylight to find it."

Aragorn lifted his chin a bit and narrowed his eyes, contemplating me closely.

"It's where I had been all day, a private glade off to the north, surrounded by trees and bushes, and there is a rock ledge, near the exact same shape and size of a --" I glanced at the bed, my face burning, then I shook my head quickly to rid myself of the image.

"You are suggesting that we wait until morning to do this?"

"Aye!"

He looked skeptical. "This plan seems ill-considered. You are likely to get little sleep tonight, knowing what the dawn will bring."

A fair point. But frankly, any delay was tempting at the moment. "So be it."

Again he turned a thoughtful look outdoors. "Is it far, this place of seclusion?"

I swallowed. It was. But he might refuse if he knew that. "No." I shrugged. "Not far."

"If it is not far --" He turned to me with a shrewd glance. "-- then why go? I thought your goal was to put distance between us and the curiosity of others."

Again my stomach clenched. "It is perhaps . . . a bit . . . far."

He shook his head slowly and gave me such a stern frown that I feared he would yank me across his knee that moment. "You are making a poor case for yourself, my naughty fledgling. This is an unfortunate way to begin."

"I know," I muttered on a sigh, ready to suffer the defeat I'd earned, my hatred of that one detestable word growing hotter.

"However," he went on, "I know this is very hard for you. So, I agree to wait until morning. I shall come for you at dawn. I assume you can again find this place you speak of?"

I'd assured him that I could. And last night Aragorn had been proven right yet again. I'd suffered a sleepless night waiting for the morn and my horrible fate . . . .

It made no sense that I should be so drenched with dread. The entire matter annoyed me. I grew more and more angry with myself. It was only a spanking. How bad could that be? I tried to talk myself out of my fear but I hadn't been able to resolve myself to what Aragorn was planning. Not all night. As each hour had dragged by and flown by my fear remained steadfast. Only a spanking? It became a fearsome word to even contemplate.

Finally, during the last weary dark hour before pre-dawn, my anger drifted away and reason again resurfaced and I grasped the simple truth of why I'd failed to conquer my fear. Of course, I'd known the answer all along, from the moment Aragorn had told me what he intended to do to me – I'd dreaded the embarrassment. Pain wasn't the factor. The humiliation was. I may still indeed be Aragorn's little fledgling, but I was also an adult. I admired Aragorn. And he was going to turn me over his knee and spank me. Every time I thought of it I winced.

Little wonder I was drenched in dread. And although I always loved awakening just before dawn, this morning when the sky began to lighten and the birds began their songs I'd sincerely hated both. When Aragorn's quiet knock came I had near shot through the ceiling.

Tromping through Rivendell's lush grounds, my stomach twisting, each step bringing us closer to my terrible fate, I'd felt groggy and ill. Clearly I looked it as well. At one point Aragorn took hold of my arm and stopped me.

"_Boromir, are you unwell?"_ he asked, full of concern._ "You are too pale. Perhaps we should return."_

I'd immediately brightened. Return? A reprieve? Aye! Indeed! Let us return! I endeavored to look even more poorly. He knew it at once.

"_Aye, it is all right, my fledgling," _he said, a glitter of cleverness in his gaze. _"We can do this back in your chambers, or in mine."_

"_N-No!" _I had sputtered._ "No, my lord. I'm fi –"_

"Boromir!"

I walked into a tree branch, Aragorn's bark yanking me back to the moment. It sounded like his patience had positively expired. "Just ahead!" I cried. "Here! We're here!"

Shoving through the last line of saplings, we entered my secluded glade and I whirled to face him, a grin on my face. Then I suddenly wondered why I was grinning.

XXXXXXXXXX

Another moment of this endless tramping and I would have hauled him by the scruff of his neck all the way back to Rivendell and blistered his deserving backside in front of all and sundry. I would have been tempted to feel misled if I believed Boromir foolhardy enough to try it, but he was no fool, so surely this secluded place he had spoken of was somewhere within Rivendell's borders. I was, however, beginning to have my doubts.

Although it had taken longer than I had hoped it would have to reach his sheltered glade, it was indeed a good place for Boromir to receive his first spanking from me. He looked boyishly pleased with himself. Then he remembered why we were here and his beaming smile vanished.

His face paled with the same terror he had worn last night. I had expected no less. He was struggling to be a model of grace in adversity, but this was a bit much even for a seasoned Gondorian Captain. Orcs, traitorous wizards, Dark Lords, monstrous vile things of the night he would face. But this impending lesson over my knee was splintering the nerve of my mighty fledgling, and I would prolong his suffering no longer.

I felt his watchful gaze as I strolled to the large stone ledge he had described. Indeed, it would serve my purpose well. Sitting down, I ran a palm over its smooth surface, so perfect and welcoming, as were all things found within these lands, a living entity. I slid back enough to leave a space beside me, room enough for his broad chest to rest upon. Aye, this would suit well.

I turned and studied him. My poor fledgling looked overwrought, exhausted from what had no doubt been a sleepless night, yet he was also still cleverly alert, as proven when he tried to beguile me into inappropriate sympathy. Little brat. I had nearly laughed.

How young he suddenly looked, standing there, trying not to sway with fatigue. He had been dressing when I came to fetch him at first light, but I bid him wear only what he had already donned – his shirt, breeches and boots. It would save me burrowing beneath tedious layers of clothing to find my target.

He looked more youthful without his mail and his Gondorian finery, my powerful but anxious young warrior, struggling so hard to be stalwart. How like Legolas he was. How appealingly like my beloved elfling.

I crooked a finger at him. He did not move. I gave him a moment.

"Aragorn --" he began.

"At once, sir,"

"But --"

"You do not want to make me fetch you."

Eyes downcast, he released a small shudder and moved towards me on stiff-looking legs, crossing the small expanse separating us. Flashes of what he might be feeling fired through me, snatches of what Legolas had shared after the first time I had spanked him:

"_When my stomach hit your thighs and I fully felt that position over your knees, ai, Aragorn!"_

Boromir was likely anticipating that right now. It was one thing for him to imagine a small hobbit stretched across my lap; envisioning himself there would be fairly devastating. He was quivering within, shaken by feelings he had likely not experienced in many long years. And we had not yet even begun.

When he was close enough I clasped his arm and yanked. He flinched.

"Shh," I murmured. "You have been over my lap before and survived the experience."

"Aye," he croaked. "But I . . . I fit the experience differently."

"My lap is still sufficient for one little boy."

"But, my-my lord . . . I am not . . . not a little . . . I may not fit --"

"Hush," I said. "Let us see."

I gave a firm tug and drew him down, situating us both until he lay spread across my thighs, his upper body resting along the rock on one side to make him feel more secure, his legs draping behind him. He was heavier than my elfling, of course, but he felt good over my lap, nicely solid, and I was surprised that his weight did not bother me at all. I smiled. Ah, how satisfying to feel my fledgling back here where he belonged, safe over my lap.

"You fit excellently well," I said eager to share my enthusiasm with him. He gasped, harsh and low, muttering something I was not meant to hear and was grateful I had not. "Are you comfortable?"

He stiffened slightly, then rasped, "Comfortable? Am I comfortable? You are concerned for my comfort?"

"Of course," I said. "And I am being polite."

Again he muttered to himself and I grinned anew, lifted his shirt and grabbed the waist of his breeches, expecting the protest that instantly followed.

"No! Ah! Aragorn! Please! Must you . . . must you --"

"Must I pull down your breeches?"

He made a grating sound deep in his throat.

"Is that what you meant?" I went on, allowing him the experience he had invited with his question. "Must I pull down your breeches and spank you on your bare bottom?"

He buried his face in his open palms and released a strangled gasp. In a way I longed to comfort him. But Boromir's embarrassment was part of this humbling ritual and I intended to make certain he felt his exquisite squirming to the utmost.

"Answer me, sir. You would rather I did not pull down your breeches and bare your bottom, is that right?"

"Aye!" he shouted. "Aragorn, please!"

I let his cry hang above us for a long moment, enough to make him cringe inside, then I lightly scolded him. "Mind your tone, little one." He sucked a sharp breath at my term, and I pressed on: "Allow me to save you the effort of further protest. I shall never spank you with your breeches up, my fledgling. I do not spank breeches. I spank naughty backsides. And there's an end to it. Do you understand?"

Oh, indeed he did. And he certainly did not want me to elaborate further on the topic.

"Aye," he quickly said, his tone most polite. "Aye, my lord, I understand."

I continued on, slowly lowering his breeches and when the cool air hit his backside he groaned once more, softly, as though in anguish. In a very real way, he was. I was certain that his blood pumped furiously, his limbs trembled, and he was enduring numerous sensations against which he had little defense, all painful reminders that he was not in control here. It was time to add my own painful reminders.

I pressed my palm down on the small of his back, stabilizing him, a gesture of reassurance, not restraint, and rested my hand on his rounded bottom. How different his backside was than a soft little hobbit bottom, or a slim, smooth-skinned and perfect elvish bottom. Mmmm . . . aye, Boromir was indeed very different from my Legolas in this respect. My fledgling's backside was much more muscular. I could not resist giving it a few little fond pats.

But he was truly shaking now. I made him wait no longer. I raised my hand and brought it down with a smart crack. He jumped at the first swat. They always do. That initial whack is shocking, not just the hot sting upon quivering flesh, but the intense intimacy of it.

I held nothing back, moving into a steady spanking rhythm, something that would help him cope. Each spank brought an involuntary flinch, and as time wore on and his backside began to warm and glow, a small explosion of breath accompanied each flinch.

Clearly he had resolved to not cry out. That was all right. Legolas usually began with the same resolve, stubbornly stoic despite his discomfort, so unlike the wriggling, kicking halflings. The little ones are honest about what they are feeling, Pippin in particular. A spanking stung, and they surrendered to that fact, admitting their discomfort with charming openness.

Boromir was struggling inside though, mightily, and despite his determination to appear unaffected my fledgling would not be released from my lap until he had surrendered. It took a warrior longer to reach that point than it did a halfling and I understood that. I understood all too well.

No matter. I would wait.

XXXXXXXXXX

Fury helped me carry on at the beginning. Thank the Valar something had. I focused on that and on my resentment of Aragorn, what he had the audacity to be doing. And I cursed my stupidity, at how easily he'd led me into this . . . aye, focus on that anger, on that, and on how humiliating this position was. A jolt shot through me when my stomach hit his thighs and it had taken a sheer act of will to remain where I was when he drew down my breeches. Devastating, all of it.

And now . . . now Isildur's heir was spanking me. He had been spanking me steadily for some time and I . . . I was running out of fury. Embarrassment was quickly becoming an unimportant matter. Now all I longed to do was writhe and squirm and wriggle away from his relentless spanking hand, pride be cursed!

Yet I still wouldn't allow myself to do such humiliating things, except . . . I-I had inadvertently bucked up a bit, and Aragorn had held me down more firmly, reminding me that I didn't want to be doing that anyway, thank you, Isildur's heir. But now . . . now the anger and the shame were being driven from me with each increasingly biting swat.

None of this made sense. A spanking could not hurt this much! It couldn't! This was a child's chastisement! How did the hobbits withstand it? How could they jest about it and tease each other about it, this harrowing, endless, fiery experience?

Had they really suffered this more than once? And how could they be so foolish as to invite this again after enduring it the first time? Were their wee bottoms as tough as the bottoms of their furry feet? Was that possible? No. No of course not. Well, not likely. But just how did they withstand this? How?

Was I more delicate than a hobbit?

Aragorn must be spanking me harder than he did them. Had to be. He couldn't do this to a sweet little halfling! He was a fiend, but he wasn't that fiendish. The poor creatures would scarce be able to walk afterwards, much less ever sit again. For that matter, would I? So much for my sheer act of will.

I'd lost track of how long he'd been at this . . . hours now. Hours. It had to be hours. I tried to blink away my blurred vision to judge the length of the shadows . . . no. No, impossible that they looked no shorter now than when we'd arrived here hours and hours ago! Not possible. Not. I simply couldn't see well enough; my vision was too glassy with unshed tears. But I refused to reach up and wipe them away. I would not. I clenched my fists. No! I would not.

I had fought so hard to hold back any traitorous weeping. But after a while my tears listened to my blazing backside instead of my will and a few wet drops had splashed down onto the stone beneath my face. Still, he need not know . . . he couldn't see them. I was braced up on my elbows, my head hanging down, my hair blessedly covering my face. Aragorn couldn't see that wetness beneath my face, and he wouldn't! I wouldn't allow him to.

My jaw ached from gritting my teeth. Throbbing waves radiated up towards my back and down the tops of my thighs, although he'd only struck my backside . . . again and again and again, over and over, tirelessly, over and over. If only I could've gone numb. But, no. Nooo, of course, my behind only became more tender as he went on, and on, and on, and on . . . untold numbers of swats for hours and hours and hours now. Made sense it would hurt more . . . sting upon sting upon sting.

Aragorn had to tire! How could he be this relentless? How was he able to sustain such an unwavering, forceful swing when every one of my muscles now ached and quivered with weariness? How could he not tire?

I wasn't sure I could bear much more. I would not dishonor myself and stop him by force. I could of course, but I couldn't. I really could not. And I wouldn't. No, no, no, nooooo, I would not! But surely, oh please, _surely_ this was enough!

I had to make it stop. I had to do something. This was too awful, too endless, too smothering, too blinding and big.

He wanted me to yield. Very well! So be it. I'd yield, and gladly!

Curse my weakness and his inflexible need to control! Curse my helpless position and his power to demand what he wished! Aye, I'd yield. I'd stop this. I'd force my frenzied mind to focus, form a dignified plea for leniency, and he'd have my dratted assurance that I'd accept his authority.

The sound of his voice hardly seemed real.

"Such lonely, silent tears . . . ah, my poor, beloved fledgling."

XXXXXXXXXX

My words had their predictable effect. Boromir went rigid, even more rigid than he had been; then he collapsed. He melted down from his elbows, crossed his arms before him and dropped his head to them with a gut-wrenching sob.

At last.

Even in his submission he struggled for some measure of control, muffling his first low and desperate sobs into his arms. It was not to be, though, for his surrender hit him too hard and it was too powerful to hide or contain.

Within moments he raised his head and gulped shuddering intakes of air between raw, bursting cries. I slowed my swats and began rubbing circles on his lower back.

"Shhhh . . . easy . . . breathe, little one . . . shhhhh."

'Little one' befit him now. At this moment Boromir was as defenseless as the last time he had been over my knee at the age of four, and he was likely even more fragile. He desperately needed to hear that endearment, know that it was permissible to be so weakened and vulnerable. Impossibly hard feelings for one such as my fledgling. His weeping, once started, grew louder and more frenzied.

But he was right where he needed to be, where I wanted him to be.

I stopped spanking entirely and rested my palm over his hot and fiercely red bottom. He truly had taken a lot but, sensing his limits, I had brought him right to the edge of them. He trembled now, nearly depleted, and I began speaking softly to him, simple words that brought comfort to hobbit and elf alike: "Shhhh . . . breathe . . . listen to my voice now. Gooood, sweetling, you did so well, I am so proud of you . . . shhhh . . . ."

I kept him there, safe over my lap, and I continued murmuring to him, giving him time to find his breath and simply abandon himself to his exhausted weeping, his head buried in his arms, his hair shielding his face. He needed to be calm enough to listen now. Hopefully he was sufficiently spent in both body and mind and had nothing left to fight me with, for indeed, what was coming now would be even harder for him than the mere physical ordeal he had just suffered.

I usually did my talking during a spanking, but I also saved some of it for afterwards. I would gather up whoever was over my lap and enfold him to me, reassuring him with soothing words and gentle touches. Sometimes I would stretch out with Legolas, stroking and embracing him, though most often, as with the hobbits, I cuddled him on my lap as well.

But whoever was over my knee they never minded staying there until I decided to let them up, a feeling I understood entirely. And, comfort issues aside, I had learned long ago what could happen if I allowed a warrior too much freedom at this point. Sadly for Boromir, a certain elfling's behavior had set the standard for him as well.

So my fledgling would remain where he was for now, feeling his vulnerable position and the ever-present threat that I would begin spanking him again if need be. Not that I felt Boromir was capable of more than his current and heartfelt crying. But, though vanquished for now, my determined fledgling was still himself, that tenacious spirit lying dormant at the moment, yet still potent. And that was as it should be. It was never my goal to break the spirit.

A spanking is not meant to diminish. It is meant to nourish. The unspoken message conveyed to anyone over my knee, hobbit, elf, or man is, _'I care about you. I am not indifferent to your need, your guilt, your loneliness. I shall not walk away, leaving you to suffer alone. You shall not be passed over or ignored. I see you, and I care enough to discipline you.' _

For a spanking is a loving act, a trust, and a bond. Indeed, who does not hurt when our pain goes unheeded . . . or worse yet, when it is seen, yet dismissed? And who does not need a little attention sometimes simply because they do?

What I wanted for my fledgling was the knowledge and the acceptance that there was nothing wrong with needing the attention he so deserved. He had lost that knowledge long ago, his yearning to be noticed ignored until he finally shoved aside any further desire for it rather than to go on suffering its loss. He had locked away that need in his little boy heart until it was forgotten.

But the longing for concern and affection from another never entirely dies, especially when it was once enjoyed and lost. And so the appearance of Thorongil had reawakened that longing in Boromir, rousing not only his hope, but his confusion and fear. Little wonder he lay here quivering. And little wonder he would struggle mightily with what I had to say.

"I am proud of you, Boromir," I began after a pause. "You did well. Yet, perhaps you wonder why this was needed. Was it not enough to simply tell me that you accepted my authority?" I sighed, listening to his still soft shudders. "Aye, it was most likely enough, and you are here in part to understand that acceptance on a deeper level as the hobbits needed to."

I pressed my hand more firmly into the small of his back. My more meaningful reason for this spanking would be the hardest for him to endure. But he had to hear it, just as the hobbits and Legolas always had to hear it when they sought this from me. He had to understand that this was about more than just power.

"But, more importantly, you are here because you are deserving of this, my fledgling, and this is where I shall place you again in the future, as I am certain it will be needed."

He sucked a quick breath and paused, then he shook his head in tiny rapid moves of protest. That was fine. He would need to hear these same words often before he understood.

"Aye," I said. "This shall surely be needed again, sweetling, and you shall be given it, and you will accept then as you have now, because you accept my authority over you. You are deserving of my attention, my fledgling, now, as ever you were. When you hungered for my notice as a child, I gave it to you, and sometimes it came in this form, with you stretched out over my knee, just as you are now."

His honeyed locks tossed with the more insistent shakes of his head, but aside from a few low gasps, and small gulping sobs, he remained silent. It was building within him, though, that violent swell of emotion and denial.

"You are not here because I disapprove of you, or because you disappoint me, for indeed you do neither," I continued. "You disappoint yourself and punish yourself more than I ever could, or would ever choose to. I do not judge you, Boromir, any more than I judge a hobbit or an elf. I am proud of you, of the man you have become, and I say again, you are here because you deserve to be, because you needed to be."

He did try to move then, his panic exceeding his honor and the threat of more pain. A greater pain now roared within him, and his only thought was to escape, run! How well I understood.

The few swats I quickly delivered would have felt hideous, and he arched and cried out, doubtless against his will. But my words stung him more: "There is nowhere for you to run where you shall not find yourself waiting, my beloved fledgling."

He froze, silent, then a few hitching breaths broke free and he slumped across me once more. He started crying again, haltingly, more frantically now, hushed and desperate as though he had to hide it.

"I-I . . . Arag-gor . . . I-I --"

"Shhh . . . hush now," I murmured. "Do not try to speak. Not now. You may speak soon, but not now."

I did not want him saying anything yet, and of course he would try to. He was grasping for any way out of his anguish, even if it was no more than a choked and broken attempt to utter words.

Not yet. I would not allow him that distraction yet.

"Listen to me, sweetling, you made certain Faramir received attention from you, that he never lacked for the care you knew he needed. But the care you yourself deserved was ripped from you at an early age."

I sighed again. "Would that I had been able to stay with you longer when you were a child. I am sorry, Boromir. Forgive me, little one. I owe you those words. And although I cannot amend the past, I can, and I shall, see to you henceforth."

"A-Ar-gorn, plea-plea – sto-stop! I-I canno --"

Another solid crack on his bottom silenced him.

"Aye, you can hear me out, sweetling, so hush now. As you see, we shall still be addressing this matter of obedience from time to time. So be it. I am content with that, because the little boy I see living in you still is a good little boy, worthy of my attention. He needs a loving hand to correct him when he misbehaves, for he is too brutal with himself if he feels he has done something wrong. My fledgling shows compassion to others, yet he spares little of it for himself.

"But you shall never escape my notice, Boromir. When you need my attention, you shall be given it. When your mutinous air resurfaces, and rest assured, my unruly brat of a fledgling, it will, I promise you this: I shall never think less of you for it. Nor shall I think ill of you for any other headstrong acts. Neither shall I ignore such matters, nor cast you from my affections, nor make you live with your guilt. You shall be attended to, just as you have been here, and then all will be forgiven and forgotten." I paused and grinned. "Until the next time."

This was more than he could bear. Boromir burst into fresh sobs, loud, gulping sobs, wrenching, flowing up from a deep place within him. Good. Excellent. He had managed to hear all I had to say, so I allowed him his release now. He was feeling too much to separate it all, but he was certainly no doubt writhing within from his staggering feeling of exposure. Unconditional acceptance is a shattering thing, as is compassion from another for what we cannot bear to look at inside ourselves.

So I let him weep, and I rubbed his back and I murmured soft words of endearment to him and I simply loved the man over my lap as I had loved the child who had once been there. After a while he began to quiet, his sobs slowing, in part, from sheer exhaustion, and when he calmed to a soft crying and hiccupping I felt it was a good time to move him.

Slowly and with great care, I drew his breeches back up over his crimson bottom, Boromir groaning and twitching in a rather adorable manner. I could budge him no further without his help, though, so I said, "Come. Let me make you more comfortable. I long to hold my fledgling close."

He shook from his stupor, then he shot up too quickly and stumbled when his feet hit the ground.

"Easy. Slowly, sweetling," I told him, rising swiftly to steady him. He was groggy and wonderfully malleable, just as I had hoped he would to be. "Come, little one," I murmured. "Follow my lead."

Speaking to him with simple words and a gentle tone I pulled him down to the soft grass. Boromir had little will to do anything other than what I told him to, and within moments we were resting entwined, my shoulders braced against the rock ledge, Boromir half-lying over me, with his weight on his side, sparing his sore behind. I wrapped him up in my embrace, gathering my fledgling close until his upper body rested on mine, his head on my shoulder.

I inhaled a deep breath of contentment and he released a few small involuntary shudders. As he had when I first took him over my knee, Boromir felt good in my arms, warm and solid and entirely mine. We lay there in the fragrant morning for some time, Boromir becoming so still that several times I wondered if he had fallen asleep. But then he would stir, snuggle closer to me in a way that made my chest swell gloriously, and perhaps rub his face against my shoulder. I felt the peace within him, the calm beating of his heart and his soft, quiet breathing, and it was utterly perfect. I could not help leaning down to press my lips on his forehead.

"You can never disappoint me, my beloved fledgling," I murmured. "I love you now as I always have, and nothing you can do will ever change that. And now --" I kissed him again. "Now you may speak."

XXXXXXXXXX

Speak?

Speak . . . hmmm . . . .

The word slithered into my mind, finding no foothold.

"You do not have to speak, though," Aragorn added. "Lie quiet if you wish. You feel good in my arms. There is no need for words."

I doubted I had any. They were just beginning to form in my own mind, but to speak? The challenge was beyond me.

And what could I say to him? I could tell him that I never wanted him to move, never release me, that his body felt warm and soothing and his arms around me comforting, and that the light touch of his lips sent a shock of enjoyment rippling through me.

I could tell him that I loved all his gentle, sweet words, especially the ones that made me feel like that four year-old again. I loved him calling me 'sweetling' and 'my fledgling.' _My_ fledgling. I was _his_ fledgling! Oh, the warm jolts that sent through me! How could I love it so? How could just that endearment from him, that special name for me make my heart thrum so? How was it that I loved him talking to me in terms that I might've used for Faramir in his youth, or that might now be better suited to the little ones? How could I love it so?

I could tell him that nothing in my life came close to what I felt in this moment, this wondrous, bewildering, sheltered feeling, and that I could likely shatter again in my next heartbeat, and that I had never wept so as an adult, and that, even though I should be furious with him because of my throbbing backside, in truth, I felt so loved, so safe, so . . . so . . . .

Were there any words big enough for what I was feeling?

No. Nothing I could say would be big enough, nor make sense at this moment. So I heard myself say something fairly senseless:

"Denethor never did that."

A short pause, then: "Did he not?"

"No."

"Ah." Another kiss. "My poor fledgling."

The aching knot in my throat threatened to burst again, inviting another surge of tears.

"But you wish that he had," he added.

I squeezed my sore eyes shut, but my tears still trickled free. Unable to respond, I buried my face into his shoulder and barely nodded. Aragorn sighed deeply, his arms holding me tighter as though to shelter me from the memories.

We lay this way for a while, Aragorn slowly petting his fingers through my hair or kissing my head. I relished his closeness and his scent and his touch, feeling safe, and finally I murmured, "Denethor didn't have to do that, spank me like that, because . . . because he . . . ." I forced myself to stop and think and to find what I was struggling to say. "He would . . . all my father had to do was look at me a certain way, and . . . ."

"Ah," he said, his voice flat. "Is that all?"

"Aye. And seeing that look . . . a pain would strike at my heart, and I would learn."

I felt him tense. "Aye," he said in a low, grating tone. "You learned. Indeed. You learned."

And I suddenly saw that look, Denethor's angry look, and a shudder ripped through me. I pressed closer to him and winced my eyes shut again, not wanting Denethor there with us. But Aragorn was there, my Thorongil had me, and he immediately began to rub my back, drawing me closer . . . _cuddling_ me . . . ahhhhhh.

"Shhh," he said. "He is not here, sweetling."

"How did you know I was think --"

"You tensed, my fledgling. And your breathing became rougher. It was not hard to determine why. You were thinking too much, thinking of your father, I vow."

I nodded.

"Stop it, little one."

I pressed my face against him even more.

"Shhh. That's right. Hold on t me. 'Tis just the two of us here, no other. I will allow no other," he went on, his voice deep and strong. "I shall have my fledgling all to myself."

I felt a sudden calm, and I had indeed stopped thinking of Denethor. In an instant I had stopped. I raised my eyes to Aragorn, needing to see him. He was already looking down at me, watching me with a strange mixture of sadness and compassion.

"Aragorn, please, I-I cannot seem to think well just now . . . but what is this I . . . why do I feel . . . ?"

He tucked my head back down to his shoulder and kissed my hair and said, "Shhhh, there is no great mystery to be found here, but you have been given more than you can fathom at present. Things will make sense soon, when you are less weary and overcome. We have much time to sort things out now. Still, I shall help you if I can at the moment. What do you wish to know?"

"Just now, you said that I learned . . . ?"

Aragorn paused, drew a deep breath, then released it on a long sigh. "You learned that your waywardness did not bring you the attention you longed for, even in the form of discipline," he said, in a bitter, sad tone. "It brought shame and humiliation. It left you with unbearable guilt and no way to relieve that guilt. No forgiveness. No . . . no peace. Just endless regret. You learned that affection came at a price and you had best meet that price. You learned the wrong lessons, my poor fledgling . . . hurtful lessons. But no more. No more."

Aragorn's voice had grown more dark and hollow as he spoke and I realized that it was because of me. His anguish was for me! All he'd done was for me. Not to punish or subjugate or shame. But because he cared about me . . . loved me. He had said so: _'I love you now as I always have.'_ Was such a wondrous truth possible? He was here, holding me, and I felt so safe . . . so entirely his.

And suddenly it didn't matter that I couldn't fathom it all right now. All that mattered was that love, and the soaring feeling that I'd found something I'd lost long ago and desperately missed all my life. A treasure had been returned to me. My next words left my lips before I even heard them in my mind.

"I love you, Thorongil."

"I love you, too, little fledgling."

I feared my chest would burst for swelling! His reply was so instant, so heartfelt, awarded with a gentle hug and a small kiss to my brow. A tiny sob of joy burst from me ere I could think and, embarrassed, I pressed my face against his shoulder again, wrapping my arms around him more tightly.

After a moment he said in a tight voice, "Boromir. Your embrace is wondrous, but I cannot breathe."

I gasped, and laughed and quickly loosened my hold, too quickly in fact, and I accidentally rolled back some onto my scorched bottom. "AHH!" I cried and fell against him again. Aragorn was now laughing as well.

"I think you shall be happy to leave your mount behind in Rivendell."

I drew back, trying to keep my weight on my hip. "I do not find that humorous," I said, though it was clear that I did.

He gave me a soft triumphant smile. "Aye, you do, little one."

A sudden shaft of sunlight burst through the trees, shining down into our glade and spilling around Aragorn, illuminating him in a shimmering white glow. For a moment I could do nothing but stare, too overcome by his splendor to speak.

"Come," he said. He opened his arms, flashing me his quiet, handsome grin. "Come my fledgling. This is where you belong now."

"Aye, my lord." And I gratefully sank into the embrace of my king.

End


	2. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I don't own  
these characters. This story is not meant to violate the rights held  
by New Line, Tolkien Enterprises, nor any other licensee, nor is any  
disrespect intended._

**ATTENTION INVITED**

by Larrkin

I sensed it the moment I watched Aragorn's gaze fall upon the warrior from Gondor. It seemed my Ranger watched the man's arrival with a special . . . regard. I had dismissed it at once, but the feeling lingered in my heart, and I began to pay closer attention every time we were in the presence of the man.

Even his name somehow sounded presumptuous: Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, and other such tedious mortal titles.

The council had scarce begun before I had suffered my fill of his arrogance, his disdainful posturing and his accusatory tongue. Impudent human! Behaving as though Gondor was owed all credit for protecting the free peoples of Middle Earth from this threatening darkness, as though Gondor alone stood sentinel against all evil!

The man displayed a singular unawareness of that which lay beyond his ken and a grating desire to share his ignorance with all. I watched him swagger and boast and deride the others at the council, and I held my tongue and dared not look across the open space to Aragorn. But I could not help glancing over at him once, and I saw what I had fully expected to see: a small, slow shake of his head and a pressed-lip warning on his face that read simply, "No, Legolas. Do not."

I did my best. It is wise to heed such looks from Aragorn. So I sat clenching my fists and glaring and trying to emulate my kinsmen who were displaying true elvish decorum. Aragorn finally put an end to the Gondorian creature's tirade, speaking sharply to the man, as indeed he deserved. I silently applauded Estel's forthrightness, too brief though it was.

But when the young agitator turned and actually belittled this man to whom he owed allegiance and respect, I shot to my feet and said what needed saying, consequences be cursed! It did silence him. He was fortunate that I chose mere words – and precious few of them – to express my displeasure. Yet Aragorn, as he ever does, calmly ordered my restraint, a scene so familiar between us I thought little of it other than to obey.

My temper often landed me upended over Aragorn's lap, and such proved to be the case later that evening, as indeed I had expected it would:

"_Did you not understand my silent signal to you, elfling mine?"_

"_Aye! But-but-but --!"_

"_You decided to ignore it?"_

"_Noooo! I-I-I OWW! Arag-gorn please! Please! I am s-sorry!"_

"_I know Boromir troubles you, however you will show him every courtesy, little one. Is that clearly understood?"_

"_I . . . I AHHHHH!"_

"_I did not hear you, sweetling."_

"_Aye! C-Clearly un-nerstood! I-I am sorry!"_

Afterwards, when Aragorn held me and spoke to me once more about my need to come to terms with this man, I again promised to try, even though I felt my Ranger was being unreasonable if he thought I could graciously endure the constant presence of both a vile dwarf and this disrespectful mortal infant.

But a hurtful murmur began stirring in my mind, a feeling connected to the way Aragorn looked at Boromir, and the way my Ranger had held himself in reserve when the creature had sneered at him in council, even the fact that Aragorn had ordered my restraint when I had tried to defend him.

It nagged at me off and on. Then the explanation hit suddenly and with the full force of a troll's club. I knew what this was.

The blow of realization came just before we set out from Rivendell: I discovered for a certainty that Aragorn had done to the man what he does to me. He had spanked Boromir. Aragorn had shared that intimacy with him. By the lives of all my ancestors, I could not escape the waves of hot fury and sorrow that surged through me the morning I learned it for a fact.

At Lord Elrond's request I had sought out Aragorn and I found him moving along a pathway a short distance from the balcony upon which I stood. That ever-present pest of a human strolled at his side. Enjoying a surge of delight at the prospect of denying Boromir the further pleasure of Aragorn's company, I opened my mouth to call out, but a sudden exchange between them halted my call.

It was, of course, beyond unseemly for me to listen, but listen I did, my blood racing faster with each word.

"Ah, here is a nice stone bench," Aragorn said, casting Boromir a teasing grin. "We should stop and take our rest."

Boromir laughed quickly then shot Aragorn a wince. "Be my guest," he said. "I'll stand, thank you."

Aragorn chuckled warmly. He sat and patted his thighs and said, "Come, my fledgling. Nice and comfortable."

"Ha!"

Aragorn released his gentle laugh. "But you fit so excellently well."

"Please, Aragorn!" Boromir sighed. "It was not the fit, but the position. And I am obliged to inform you that your legs are solid muscle with no hint of softness. So, no, thank you. I do not care to revisit your lap in any position."

"Ah, but you shall. I know you, my fledgling, and indeed you shall."

I could barely think. My heart pounded a furious rhythm. A vision of what I had just heard implied ripped through me, a vision I did not want to see. I stood frozen, words stuck in my throat, and at that moment Aragorn turned his head, glanced up, and noticed me. He paused, his forehead quickly tensing the way it did when Aragorn was considering something carefully. He clearly knew that I could have been there for some time.

"Do you seek something, Legolas?" he called.

Boromir's head whipped around, his golden locks flying, his eyes wide with alarm. He calmed, though, when he looked up and saw my distance from them. Ignorant mortal. Too oblivious to know the extent of an elf's hearing. Typical.

"Lord Elrond seeks council with you," I called. Then I added, "Just. You."

Aragorn lifted a brow and watched me for a long moment, then he rose. "Excuse me," he said to his pouting shadow. "We shall meet later."

Aragorn turned to head towards me. I felt a tingle of victory and I swear the child saw the slight smile on my face. He shot me a contemptuous smirk and called after Aragorn, "Aye, Lord Elrond's young messenger boy summons."

He said it loudly, obviously for my benefit. Aragorn stopped short and turned to look at him, then he stalked back to Boromir and whispered something in his ear that made the man's body droop. Boromir then nodded once and left without so much as a backward glance.

Had this little scene gone on between Aragorn and one of the hobbits I would have simply found it charming. But with Boromir? My chest tightened with a ferocious ache, that image returning, driven by what Aragorn had no doubt just promised he would do to Boromir later.

It made no sense that I would envy another a trip over Aragorn's knee.

But with each hour this unrestrained fury grew. I knew what it was, but I was loathe to think myself base enough to be feeling jealousy. Elves were above such pettiness. It was beneath me. It was embarrassing. I vowed to ignore it.

I tried to busy myself, finding tasks to divert my mind, but in every quiet pause of non-thought the wretched vision of that man stretched out over Aragorn's lap surged forth, surrounding me and taunting me, owning my heart and destroying my peace . . . Boromir, over Aragorn's lap . . . .

My place. Mine.

No longer mine exclusively, for I knew the moment I saw Aragorn with the hobbits that they, too, now occasionally received his disciplinary skills. But I had smiled at the notion. They would thrive under the safety of his special care. Aye, the little ones were favored by Aragorn's determined right arm. How could I resent Aragorn' attentions to such worthy young souls? I gladly shared his lap with them.

Boromir however . . . .

XXXXXXXXXX

"Yes," Elrond said. "I noticed. It was impossible to fail noticing."

"Perhaps it will ease when we begin our quest," I said.

Elrond made no reply. His glance alone often spoke for him and it did so this time.

"No," I said on a sigh. "You are right. It will most likely get worse."

"Most likely."

"I spoke to Legolas after the Council."

"Indeed. He sat with care in The Hall of Fire that night."

We exchanged a small grin. Then he said, "And how goes it with Boromir?"

"Very well." One never had to say much with Elrond. He knew near everything that went on within his realm without having to ask, but he asked out of politeness.

"You shall know what to do, Estel," he said. "Ever have you followed your heart in your dealings with men. Ever have you done well."

"And with elves?" I questioned. "One exceedingly obstinate and temperamental elf in particular?"

Elrond grinned again. "With him, too. You know that his love for you urges Legolas into such uncivil behavior. This man who vies for your affections tests his restraint. Legolas has ne'er needed face such a rival."

I nodded. "But Ada, Legolas and I have been together for such a long time. He should know better."

"Perhaps. But do not make the mistake of looking for reason in this matter, my child. Legolas knows that your heart is large enough to care for all Middle Earth, and that is well with him, however, when it comes to the Steward's young son from Gondor --" Elrond shot me a shrewd glance. "Ah, that is a different matter entirely."

"So my Legolas simply needs reassurance. He needs to be shown what he already knows. "

"There is solace in being reassured of what one already knows." Elrond smiled with astute certainty. "Even as a talk with your ada confirms the path you already knew. There is comfort in it, is there not, _pen-neth_?"

I lowered my head, smiling softly at his wisdom. "Aye."

Despite our frequent disagreements, Elrond's faith in me was absolute. But the prospect of keeping peace between a hot-tempered elf, a belligerent young warrior and a hostile dwarf left me wondering if I had the mettle to withstand this potential war within our new Fellowship. If we survived the company of each other, the hosts of Isengard and Mordor would seem manageable. And that was not even taking into consideration the charmingly heedless little hobbits, who had a woeful talent for mischief.

I stood accountable for dealing with matters of discipline and harmony within our Fellowship. Gandalf was our voice of reason, but unity within the group would not be the wizard's responsibility. There were passions at play here that Gandalf had neither the time nor the patience to endure. It would be up to me to calm this particular storm that brewed between Legolas and Boromir.

I began hearing yet more of that storm as I neared my chamber that evening. Strained, angry voices rarely heard within these peaceful walls urged me into a trot and I rounded the corner to see Legolas and Boromir facing off, eye to eye, and seemingly close to blows at the entrance to my chamber.

Legolas had just said something particularly vulgar in elvish and Boromir thundered, "What did you just say?"

Legolas repeated his obscene words, again in elvish.

"You insolent elf!" Boromir snarled, clearly on principle alone. "I knew I should've taught you some manners after your rude behavior at the Council!"

"You dare talk to me of manners and rude behavior?"

"I should have done more than talk!"

"You?" Legolas blurted a short laugh. "A mere man, 'teach' an elf anything?"

"Aye, and gladly!"

They were so focused on their fury and each other they did not take note of me striding towards them. They simply kept bickering even when I shoved them into my chamber and shut the door.

I let them go at it, allowing them get some of their rage out now, lest they carry on like this once we left Rivendell. The hobbits need not witness this. I certainly wished I had been spared it as well. I drew forth my pipe, packed and lit it, then stood quietly smoking, keeping score of the verbal battle.

They were evenly matched in fire and bluster, but Legolas had a slight advantage. He was able to infuriate Boromir by badgering him with incredibly nasty elvish remarks that Boromir could not interpret. My elfling's tone was plain enough, but since Boromir could not understand him there was no real need for Legolas to use such coarse language. He could very well have been discussing the weather and Boromir would have still become incensed. But it seemed that Legolas derived a measure of satisfaction from indulging such foul speech, and since it served to provoke Boromir, all the better.

I had to admire their zeal. Such intensity would serve the Fellowship well.

When they seemed ready to come to blows, it was time to step in. I felt it likely that Boromir did not know that elves possessed three times the strength of a man. Such a sound trouncing as Legolas was able, and clearly most willing, to deliver would sorely wound my fledgling's pride. That was unnecessary. Yes, Legolas would enjoy it to a certain degree, but I knew my beloved elfling. The satisfaction he felt in victory would be an empty one, and it would quickly turn to guilty feelings. No, a physical engagement between these two would be produce no victor. I cleared my throat.

They both halted, instantly realizing where they were, what they had been doing, and my unhappy presence. Both had the wisdom to look apprehensively contrite. I let them stand silent for a long moment while I wordlessly puffed my pipe a few more times, mildly glancing back and forth between them.

"Well," I said. "That was impressive."

"Aragorn, I--"

"He deliberately--"

"No! It was he who--"

"I had come to--"

"He said he was here first, when in fact--"

I held up a hand before the next round began. "Enough."

They both looked ready to challenge me . . . for about two heartbeats. Then they stood silent and uneasy.

Deciding to employ a strategy I felt might serve, I said, "I must agree with Lord Elrond. He has grave concerns about how the two of you will behave on our quest."

It was not exactly a lie. Not really. Elrond had indeed discussed his concerns with me earlier in the day. But the meaning behind my words was enough to make Legolas and Boromir reflect instant shock and dismay. I continued to not exactly lie.

"There are several worthy elven warriors here in Elrond's house who would serve well on the quest. Even Glorfindel has volunteered."

Boromir gasped. "My lord, please --!"

"Glorfindel is a mighty warrior. He would be a fine asset."

"Estel! No!" Legolas cried in a hushed tone.

"It is not my wish to replace either one of you, but I can think of little else to do. I cannot risk the success of our mission. The Ringbearer needs every member of the Fellowship working in harmony if he is to achieve his goal. I shall not risk the success of his quest, nor his safety."

"Nor would I--"

"I understand, and--"

"But you see my problem. The two of you cannot even tolerate each other here within these quiet borders. I fear what may happen when we are out in the wild, where you shall be in constant contact and needing to cooperate."

I regretted doing this to them. Boromir had paled in distress while my elfling's eyes were so wide with horror he looked to be facing one of the monstrous demons of the Underworld. But it had to be done. Such discord would create tension in our Fellowship and the fate of the Ringbearer had to be my first concern.

Giving them a moment to think on my intimations, I knocked the ashes from my pipe into the fire, then turned back to them. "We are at a crossroads, my friends. It would grieve me to leave you behind, not only because of the loss it would be to the Fellowship . . . " I softened my voice. "But because my fondness for you both knows no bounds, and I would dearly miss your companionship."

A sheen of glassy tears made their eyes glitter, yet they both brightened at my words.

"My desire is that you stay with the quest, but I must have your assurances that you shall do your utmost to settle these differences. Gandalf informs me that the weather to the east is shifting and the best time to take our leave is the day after tomorrow. If a change needs to be made, it must be now. So, what say you, my friends? Can you learn to work together?"

They both straightened and gave me their pledge that they would do their best to serve the Ringbearer and the quest by getting along and fostering a more amiable front. I smiled and thanked them and said I knew they would try their hardest as they were both honorable warriors. They looked much relieved.

I knew full well that this would not be the end of it. We would certainly face this again, and likely soon. But it was a beginning, a chance to cool off until the next round.

"Very well," I said. "Let us speak no more of what happened here. What did you need of me?"

They both gave me blank stares and a vague look of bewilderment similar to what the hobbits fashioned anytime they got away with something they felt they should not have.

"Legolas? You came to see me?"

"Aye . . . but . . . ." He threw a glance at Boromir. "Please, sir. You may go first."

Boromir looked vague. "I have forgotten what I came to – oh, yes! You told me to meet you . . . ." He glanced back at Legolas. "Uh . . . well, earlier, this morning, you asked that I --"

"Ah." I nodded. "Indeed."

I glanced at Legolas. His eyes remained downcast for a moment, then he lifted a gaze of such staggering hurt that my chest tightened. Legolas obviously knew why I had asked Boromir here and what I intended to do to him this night, and it seemed that he already knew what I had done to my fledgling before this.

A hot wash of regret shot through me, my thoughts flashing back to earlier when I had seen Legolas looking stunned on the balcony above us. I wondered if he had been there long enough to hear our teasing exchange about the bench, if he had been impertinent enough to listen in. Now I had my answer. Their battle outside my chamber suddenly made sense.

I had planned to prepare Legolas before telling him that I had begun to discipline Boromir. I had planned to share some information that might make the discovery easier for my elf, tell him of the history Boromir and I shared, of our connection. Legolas knew of my years in Gondor serving Ecthelion as Thorongil, but he had not known of the little boy I left behind there.

So I planned to tell Legolas this entire tale. I would tell him what I knew of Denethor, let him draw his own conclusions about Boromir's behavior from there. I knew that such information would calm my elfling's jealous fears and kindle his compassion.

But there had been no time to speak to him of it, for it had only been yesterday that I first spanked Boromir. And now Legolas had faced this alone and unprepared. That hot flush seared through me anew. We had partaken of this intimacy for a long time. My elf had needed to "share" with no others. He knew how I dealt with hobbit discipline, and he did not mind it in the least.

"_So, you spanked each of them the first time you met them in Bree,"_ he repeated, soon after he arrived in Rivendell and I had been telling him of my journey here with the hobbits.

"_Aye."_

"_Estel. Was that not a bit heavy-handed of you?"_

"_Nay. It was not."_

"_And you spanked Frodo at Weathertop, and then you spanked the others, uhh --"_

"_Merry, Pippin and Sam."_

"_Aye. You spanked all three of them the day after Weathertop, when Arwen was on her way here with Frodo."_

"_Aye."_

Grinning thoughtfully, my elfling had said, _"It sounds as though these little ones entreat spankings."_

"_Oh, mellon nin, you have no idea."_

No doubt Legolas would likely begin to help me with halfling discipline should it be needed on the Quest. I would welcome his expert assistance. But he would have trouble with the notion of Boromir going over my knee. And indeed Legolas now looked quietly stricken, overly still and bravely stoic, shifting into that elvish remove he summoned when he wished to disguise his hurt.

I glanced at Boromir. He watched quietly during the few moments of silence, shifting a look of curiosity between Legolas and myself.

"My lord Aragorn," Legolas suddenly said, drawing my instant attention with his cold formality. "It seems I have also forgotten my reason for seeking you out. I apologize for the intrusion. I shall take my leave."

"Legolas--"

But he had already turned and was nearly to the door, moving with his swift, fluid grace.

"Hold!" I said in a tone he recognized well. He paused and turned, his chin high, his smooth face flushed, a look of expectant detachment firmly in place.

I crossed to him and took gentle hold of his arm, saying softly, "We must talk. I cannot let you leave this way."

One corner of his mouth pulled up in a tiny, wry grin. "You always do that, Estel," he said in Sindarin. "You slip into the elvish tongue when your feelings grow big."

I continued in the elvish, my feelings now enormous. "Please, elfling mine. Do not go like this. I have much to discuss with you."

Legolas lowered his gaze and gave a small, thoughtful nod. "Aye, we must talk, but not now." He shot a quick sideways glance to Boromir, then stiffened and turned back to the door saying, "You have other more pressing matters to attend to now, Aragorn."

"Legolas --"

"Aragorn I can see little choice in this," he said, fully locked into his elvish aloofness. "We cannot have this discussion at present. I understand your concern, but your duties lie elsewhere this night."

"Legolas, please, I hardly consider these matters mere 'duties.'"

"Forgive my harsh speech, then," he answered quickly. "But what else can be done right now?"

He was right. I disliked it, but that made him no less right. There was little else to do but let him go. And so I nodded and he yanked open the door, leaving with no other word, no backward glance. Watching him walk away in his beautiful, flowing stride, I felt a painful squeezing in my chest and a deep blow to my conscience.

"Aragorn, if you would prefer, we can have this talk another time."

Boromir's quiet tone pulled me back from my selfish remorse. I could do no more for my elfling at the moment, and I felt regret settle painfully in my heart.

I closed the door, drew a breath, then turned to Boromir with a wry grin. "Talk?" I said. "Nay, my fledgling, there shall be no waiting, and no mere talking. I intend to deal with your rudeness to Legolas this morning without further delay."

He blinked, his eyes widening. "But, you cannot--"

"Cannot?" Striding towards him, I raised a brow. "Let us see about that."

Boromir swallowed hard, shifting his weight. "But, it is dark, too dark, and we cannot get to the glade!"

"You are right in that. We cannot."

He took a step back, the inevitable finally hitting him. "Here?"

"And now," I said. I halted and glanced at my bed; then I crossed to it and sat on the edge, saying, "We may not be able to withdraw to some place of seclusion every time you are in need of a trip across my knee, Boromir."

"For pity's sake, Aragorn!" he cried, his cheeks positively flaming.

I crooked a finger at him. "You do not want to make me to fetch you."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Merry."

"uuuuuuhhhh . . . ?"

"Do you hear that?"

"uuuuuuuuuhhh . . . ." Oh, merciful Middle Earth! He was indeed awake. I shook off his little tugging hand. "Pippiiiiin! Leave me 'lone."

"Merry!"

"Ohhh . . . ." I growled. "For the luvva--go backa sleep, Pip!"

"But . . . listen!"

"Stop bouncing around!"

"D'ya know what that sounds like?"

He was clearly only hearing, not listening. "Pippin. I can assure you, I don't care wha--"

"It sound's like . . . like someone's getting . . . well, spanked!"

"If you don't settle down and go back to sleep, you'll be just as well-spanked!"

"You hear it, too, then?"

"No."

"Listen!"

"Oh, for the – I don't believe this." I sighed. "All right! Yes. I hear it. You're right. Someone's getting their backside hotly thrashed."

"Quite hotly thrashed by the sound of it."

"Pippin, you are but a moment away from a hot thrashing of your own."

"I wonder who it is."

Nice to know my threats carried such weight. "I haven't the foggiest, nor do I care, and neither do you."

"But I do care!"

"Are my words going into that Tookish head?"

"Couldn't be Frodo or Sam. They wouldn't be getting spanked that hard. And we'd hear them bellowing. Whoever that is, they aren't making a sound."

Right. Nothing was going to work here.

"Merry?"

I was going to end up spanking him. I could feel it.

"Have you gone back to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Who d'ya suppose it could be?"

"What do we care, Pip?"

"Must be . . . Merry! It . . . it must be a . . . a big person!"

"Well, since all the hobbits are accounted for--"

"Except old Bilbo."

"Oh, thank you for that vision, Master Took!"

"Aye. Sorry, love. Completely out of the question."

"There's a question?"

"So, it's a big person . . .or . . . or an elf! Oh, Merry! D'ya think it could be an elf?"

"Please."

"Well, it could be an elf. I mean, well, maybe it is. Elves might get spanked too, you know, even grown up elves."

I couldn't help grinning into my pillow. He was too adorable at times, blast him. Pip sucked a sharp breath.

"It could even be that pretty Legolas! Oh, my! D'ya think, I mean, could you just picture, just-just seeeee how that would look?"

I could of course, at once and too clearly, and something intense began happening to me! Blast him!

"Ohhhhh. Myyyyy. That makes quite a picture, doesn't it, Merry? That pretty, pretty elf, lying across a lap, his bottom bare, his long yellow hair falling--"

"Stop!"

"Let's see . . . Aragorn's quarters are closest to ours . . . ."

I covered my head with my pillow. "I'm going back to sleep."

"And if someone's gettin' spanked in Aragorn's quarters--"

"In fact, I'm going to Frodo's room and crawling in with him and Sam."

"The question then becomes, is Aragorn giving a big person, or an elf, a spanking, and if so, who? Or . . . or perhaps . . . perhaps someone is giving . . . oh, no! Not Strider! No. Not possible!"

"I'm sure Frodo and Sam won't mind. I won't take up much room."

"Merry, you don't suppose, I mean, could it be Aragorn getting . . . d'ya think Aragorn could actually be getting' span --"

"No!"

He was too silent for a moment. I pulled the pillow off my head and looked at him. Plotting. Pippin had his plotting face on. Oh no.

"I have an idea."

I sat up suddenly. "No, Pip, you don't"

"They'll never hear me. Or us." He turned to me, grinning with excitement. "You're welcome to join me. Just a little sneak through the bushes and a quick look--"

"That's done it!" I grabbed his arms and started dragging him to the edge of the bed. "Come here!"

"Merry! Wait! Aren't you curious? Don't you care?"

"At the moment Peregrin Took, the only thing I care about is tanning your backside so you'll let me get some sleep!"

"Merry! Noooooooo!"

"There's no use struggling. I'm stronger than you are."

"No, you're not! Don't! Merry! Please! Stop that!"

But there wasn't any stopping me. I knew my Pip too well. If I didn't end this now he'd be slipping on his clothes and creeping out into the night to spy on whatever poor soul was getting walloped.

My impossible tween. And I most certainly was stronger than he was! I was also just that much bigger and I could still wrestle him down when I needed to. But I let my Pip thrash around some, burn off a little of his Tookish energy. And did he ever, squealing and rolling and wiggling and scrambling about. Our bed looked like a bunch of frisky young hobbits had been sporting there.

"Please, Merry! All right! I'll stop! I won't go peekin'!"

"Bet your hot little bottom you won't. Come here!"

"Really! I swear! I won't!"

"And I intend to make sure of that."

Having had enough of this playing about, I grabbed him for the last time and dragged him into position over my lap. "You should've just gone back to sleep when I told you to, my wee love."

"I will! I promise! You don't have to do this!"

I snorted and tossed his billowy nightshirt up over his back, baring the pretty bottom I knew so well. "I disagree."

Spanking Pippin when he's been doggedly pesky is always such a satisfying thing. The sound of each loud swat, the feel of my hand on his soft and quickly warming little backside, his immediate yells of protest, all of it. It's right up there with a pint and a pipe of Old Toby.

But I didn't get to hear his hollering tonight. For some reason I couldn't fathom Pippin buried his face in the bed and muffled his usually splendid bellows. Well! This was new and wholly unlike my Pip. He's always in fine voice.

Maybe he felt flustered knowing that others might hear, not that such a thing had ever bothered him before. Pippin yelled loud and long right from the start. You'd swear Strider was killing him at times. When the Ranger was giving Pip his first spanking, back in Bree, I'd have been alarmed by Pippin's screams, except for the fact that Strider was only giving Pip the same thing I'd just had a taste of and survived, so I'd chalked it up to my Pip's typical enthusiasm when over a knee.

No matter that I couldn't hear him tonight, though. It didn't spoil the overall satisfaction for me. Not that I liked hurting my little Pip. I never really hurt him. Not really, and he knew it. Oh, I spanked the living daylights out of him, but that was all it was – a good spanking.

My sweet Pip always got what he needed from it, and it was always much more than just a hot bottom. So when I had finished and hauled him back up into the bed and fixed the blankets around us, he cuddled in and plastered himself to me and nuzzled me the way he does when he feels settled and well cared for and loved.

I kissed his curls and murmured to him while he hiccuped and sniffed and within minutes he was asleep. Now fully awake, I heaved a sigh. Ruddy tweens.

XXXXXXXXXX

How like a wizard.

Denethor once said, "If the Istari are the wisest of immortals, little wonder Middle Earth sails like a ship without a rudder."

I always thought it an odd statement, for it seemed to me that wizards, like elves, held themselves in reserve from the world of men, drifting in and out of our affairs with casual interest and infrequency. But my father was given to speaking in riddles, and he had no love for Mithrandir.

Gandalf had proven himself singularly bothersome this day, changing his mind in the night and deciding we should leave Rivendell a day earlier than planned, that afternoon in fact. He informed us of this in the morning, much to our surprise. I vow I heard Aragorn groan lowly.

But when Gandalf decided such a matter, none would gainsay him. All had been in readiness for days. Nonetheless, leaving a day early meant a few hours of last minute preparing. Then, after some ceremonial farewells, including Lord Elrond's charge to each of us, we began our Quest, following the tall form in his grey pointed hat and the sweet little one at his side.

I was glad to take my leave. Imladris was fair, but it was not Minas Tirith, and the serene elvish air was far too tranquil for my comfort. But, although I felt excited to be setting out, the sudden change in plans denied me a day during which I might have taken a little extra rest stretched out on my stomach.

Twice. Twice in less than two day's time! My breeches felt impossibly snug across my aching backside. I studied the little ones, wondering if any of them were also sore-bottomed. Aragorn and I had been parted for most of yesterday giving him plenty of time to hunt down and discipline any others he deemed in need of it. The man was distressingly conscientious.

Such thoughts still made my face flush. Everything about these new disciplinary matters still made my face flush. And when I lowered my guard and those scalding memories of what Aragorn had done to me over the past several days roared in, my entire body would flush. Anger, rather than embarrassment, caused some of that heat, anger and confusion.

It was unjust! Wretched elf! He was as much to blame for this discord as I was, taunting me with his disdainful air and his superior manner, always watching me with a slight frown gracing his fair features. I thought I'd been behaving with exceeding restraint since the Council, but Legolas seemed determined to test my tolerance.

When we had accidentally met outside Aragorn's chamber the night before, well, that pretty prince had started in at once, questioning my presence and glaring when I'd told him that Aragorn had ordered me to meet him there at an appointed hour. As though I need answer to this elf!

I had tried to politely discuss the matter but his rash temper had quickly surfaced and I was faced with a foul-mouthed troublemaker spoiling for a fight. He had actually stooped to using his native language in unfair advantage. I didn't need to understand his elvish tongue to know I was being insulted, and many of his words sounded perfectly vulgar. The little pest's tone and attitude were enough. But Aragorn had witnessed all this, or at least part of it, so why had I been the only one spanked for . . . ?

Oh. Yes. Aragorn had spanked me for the innocent little comment I'd made when Legolas had come to fetch him. It seemed a trifling matter for so severe a response. And I'd been deliberately provoked! Legolas had been smirking at me from that balcony. I'd seen it even at a distance. What else could I have done?

Had I simply swallowed my ire and turned away I would have avoided another trip across Aragorn's knee. But I have only so much endurance, and that disdainful elf possessed a gift for testing my restraint. Any excuse for my outburst would've sounded ludicrous because Aragorn hadn't seen the elf's haughty smirk.

So, I was magnanimous. I took another of Aragorn's painful spankings, then he kept me with him throughout the night, drawn closely to him. It felt quite nice. Despite a burning bottom, I slept remarkably well, exhausted, peaceful, and on my stomach. I'd remembered what Aragorn had said about the hobbits sleeping soundly after he had spanked them the first time and it made me smile.

And as I lay there, my backside throbbing with renewed fire, I realized that, of course, I had invited this. I knew how Aragorn would likely respond the second I called out my slight insult. I had, indeed, asked for another spanking, and that realization ignited a flush in me that rivaled the heat of my bottom. Hence my confusion – why had I invited that?

Nevertheless, Legolas was still an impossibly insolent elf and if Aragorn refused to haul him over his knee I'd gladly do it for him! The notion, in fact, held quite an appeal.

I watched him ahead of me now, gliding along with his easy stride and his air of perfect majesty, and I knew that this proud creature had likely never been forced to submit to the indignity Aragorn had visited upon me. Twice. Oh, perhaps Legolas had been thrown over a knee as a young elfling how many thousands of years before this, countless times if his present attitude was any indication, but it had been too long ago to have left an impression on the Legolas of present. Pity. For if anyone deserved a lesson in humility it was this comely princeling.

Yet, strangely, something inside me clenched when I thought of Aragorn doing to Legolas what he did to me. I liked the idea of the humbling a spanking would bestow upon the elf, but, for reasons that escaped me as of yet, I didn't like the thought of Aragorn spanking Legolas. Odd how unsettling a thought it was since it troubled me not at all that Aragorn spanked the hobbits, with some frequency it would seem. I could very well see myself doing the same, as he had suggested. But beautiful Legolas in such a position, receiving such attention . . . no. I did not like the thought.

Hours later, with darkness now closed in around us and the campfire burning, our Fellowship sat relaxing. Soon Aragorn would set the watch and we would sleep, but for now the smoke from many pipes drifted into the black night, a fragrant scent hovering closer to the ground. I'd smiled to myself earlier at the sight of the little ones merrily puffing away, looking like children who had made off with their father's pipes.

The hobbits were charming to watch, the way they huddled together like a litter of pups, clearly comfortable with closeness and displays of open affection. Having had no contact with hobbits before Rivendell, I was fascinated by them and overwhelmed by the protective feelings they brought out in me. It warmed me to witness such purity of heart.

Pippin and Merry bickered fondly and Sam kept a close eye on his master at all times. At present Sam had urged Frodo to lie down on his side and rest his head on Sam's thigh. He stroked the Ringbearer's dark curls. Contentment graced Frodo's fair features. Soft lights danced in his wide, liquid eyes, his thickly lashed lids blinking languidly, drowsily.

Gimli leaned against a large rock and smoked his long pipe and watched things wordlessly. I liked the dwarf and his outspoken ways, especially since he had no qualms about harassing Legolas whenever possible. Aragorn cast Gimli the occasional frown over this, but although the dwarf clearly respected the Ranger, Aragorn did not intimidate Gimli. The dwarf's offenses were trifling irritations aimed solely at Legolas, so I couldn't help appreciating Gimli's humor.

Aragorn sat near Gandalf, talking thoughtfully, and although I felt curious about what they were saying, if they wanted my counsel they would have to ask for it. I did keep an eye on Legolas, though. He stood blending in with the shadows, leaning against the trunk of a tree near to Aragorn. I watched him off and on while casting my gaze around our gathering.

I'd have preferred to be lying on my stomach at the moment. I shifted my weight anew, biting back a hiss when my protesting backside objected. I glanced again at Aragorn and at that moment he turned his gaze my way and gave me lazy, knowing smile. Amazing how easily the man could make my face heat up. I schooled my features into a look of detachment and with a final grin he turned back to Gandalf.

Legolas then made a small move, catching my attention. He was watching me, his eyes alight with a dark fire that glowed even from where he stood in the shadows. I felt his displeasure fill the distance between us, and I returned the hostility, not because I really understood the cause of it, but because I felt challenged. If Legolas glared at me he would be answered in kind.

Another sudden movement caught my eye. Merry appeared, reentering the circle of light from the darkness where he'd no doubt been seeking some privacy. He glanced at me then strolled my way. I grinned at his approach.

"Mind if I sit with you a while?" he asked, plopping down beside me and releasing a mighty yawn.

"Your company is most welcome. You are weary?" I asked.

"No. I'm fine," he said, and yawned again.

I looked off and grinned.

"Well, perhaps I'm a little tired," he admitted. "Pip kept me up last night."

I wasn't sure if I should ask anything further about what Pip might have been doing to keep Merry up last night. I was intensely curious about these beguiling little creatures, but I also felt a need for discretion. We still had much to learn about each other. Merry and Pippin's relationship was clear, as was Frodo and Sam's. They were couples, intimates, and comfortable in that, another characteristic I found entirely endearing.

"Pip kept you up?" I asked.

"Mm. He kept saying he heard something."

I instantly recalled where Merry and Pippin's chamber was in relation to Aragorn's and a hot jolt shot through me. I had nearly bitten a hole through a small pillow last night to keep from crying out while Aragorn heated my backside, and I'd managed to keep quiet, weeping silently and gasping small exploding utterances only when I could not bear it. But the sound of the spanks! There had been no stifling that.

I glanced at the hobbit from the corner of my eye, looking for a clue to his thinking, but Merry seemed his good-natured self, innocent of any intent to bait me, and really, neither hobbit could know anything for certain . . . I shifted uneasily.

"He just wouldn't settle down," Merry continued.

"I imagine Pippin can be most insistent when he chooses to be."

"Oh, he's that alright. But I put a stop to it and he finally went back to sleep."

"Well done, Master Brandybuck."

"Pippin is younger than the rest of us, you know. He's only twenty-eight, still in his tweens. He won't come of age until he's thirty-three, so he tends to be excitable, and irresponsible. All tweens are." He heaved a put-upon sigh. "He just needs a firmer hand."

"I see. Well, that explains much." I couldn't help grinning at his seriousness.

"Oh, yes. A good spanking and he's quite himself again."

He said it with such a familiar air, clearly assuming that I simply understood that this was the best way in which to handle Pippin's behavior and that I surely saw the wisdom of it. I could think of nothing to say. But Merry didn't seem to notice any surprise on my part. He simply moved on and began to ask me questions about Gondor.

The little one was delightful company. We talked quietly for some time and I learned more about their Shire and hobbit-lore. Merry felt concern over how unprepared they were for this quest, especially since they'd had little experience with swords. His fears came through when he told me of their encounter with the Nâzgul at Amon Sûl, and a shiver of horror shot through me as well when I pictured these four terrified little ones facing those monsters.

"We must begin your training at once," I told him. "Henceforth, every time we stop for the night I shall spend time with all of you, and you'll learn how to handle yourself with a sword."

His eyes lit up. "You mean, you'll teach us? You? Really? A great Captain of Gondor? You'd do that?"

"Of course. And you shall learn well, little hobbit, for I am a ruthless taskmaster."

He grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, yes, we will indeed! Thank you, Boromir!"

I ruffled his curls. "You may not thank me once we get started, little one, for I'll not let you shirk your lessons."

He laughed softly and we continued talking for some time. Finally, after a short silence, Merry looked up at me and said, "I don't mean to pry, but I was just wondering, do you dislike all elves, or just Legolas?"

His question startled me and for a moment I simply stared at him. Was the ill will between Legolas and I that noticeable?

"I'm sorry," Merry said. "It's none of my business."

"No, no," I quickly said. "It isn't that I mind you asking, it's just . . . I didn't know our feelings were so noticeable."

Merry nodded, gazing back at me directly with a frown of understanding. Such a lighthearted name for such an intense-looking little creature. "Well, hobbits tend to notice such things easily, Frodo especially. He's known of it since the council. I think he's afraid it's getting worse. He worries about things like that, you know."

Ahhh. Merry the Protector had surfaced. They all protected Frodo, all of them standing before him like a shield, his line of defense, just as they had from the first moment I saw them all gather around at the council, all standing one step before him. And small wonder. Frodo aroused the guardian in all who saw him.

So Merry's true meaning in asking his question was for the sake of his beloved friend. If he let me know that others were noticing our behavior, perhaps Legolas and I would realize the impact our hostility had on the group and straighten ourselves out for the good of all. I vowed Merry would soon speak to Legolas like this as well. My heart glowed pleasantly. Clever little hobbit.

He was also right, as Aragorn had been last night in his chamber. Whatever our differences, it was fitting that Legolas and I set them aside. I glanced at Frodo, half-dozing on Sam's leg, his youthful face serene, his manner almost fragile, and a wave of guilt washed over me for having troubled his already burdened mind.

I glanced back down at Merry who still watched me, quiet and somber. Smiling softly, I said, "Legolas and I got off to a bad start, and we have indulged that anger for too long. But I understand what you are telling me, little one, and I thank you for saying it. I shall do all I can to see that Frodo no longer worries about this. He already has worries enough, does he not?"

Merry's small face spread into a smile of gratitude. "Yes. He does."

"Perhaps you would like to go over and rest with him now." I ran my palm over his thick curls once more. "He is comforted with all of you near him."

He nodded and rose, looking relieved and yet tired again. Watching him trudge back to his companions I vowed that these valiant souls would suffer no more fears because of my petty concerns.

Aragorn stood and stretched and said, "Legolas, you shall take first watch. Gimli, you shall relieve him later."

Legolas pushed himself away from his tree and stepped from the shadows, and I suddenly sensed an overwhelming weariness in him.

I didn't think. I just acted.

"I will take first watch, Aragorn," I said, scrambling to my feet. "I am not tired."

All eyes turned my way. A heated rush coursed through me. I glanced around quickly, ending at a surprised Aragorn and an equally stunned Legolas. At once I realized my mistake, but of course it was too late to halt the wrath darkening the proud elf's face.

"I am not tired, either," Legolas grumbled indignantly. He glared at me a moment longer then nodded at Aragorn and headed off into the darkness.

The others shifted uneasily. I couldn't bear to look at Aragorn, but I stupidly glanced at Frodo. His little face was contemplative, his worried gaze studying the fire and I felt thankful that his soulful eyes were not turned on me. I dared not glance at Merry.

Suddenly Aragorn was before me. He took me by the elbow and steered me back a bit towards the darkness.

"Come," he murmured. "A word. And fear not for I know your heart was in the right place."

I looked at him and saw that extraordinary patience and understanding. He gave me a soft wry grin. "Do not look so aggrieved, Boromir. Your intent was to do good. Your strategy was ill advised to be certain, however it is your purpose that concerns me, and that was noble. But perhaps it would be best to pause and think the next time you feel self-sacrificing, my fledgling, at least when it concerns Legolas."

I nodded. "I should apologize--"

"No," he quickly said. "Not now." At my sudden glance of distress he shook his head and added, "I shall deal with Legolas. This needs settling, but right now you must rest. Be at peace, Boromir. All will be well soon."

XXXXXXXXXX

I rarely felt such rage. It had been less than two full days since I learned of Aragorn spanking Boromir, yet I had not adjusted to the knowledge. I doubted I could. Fury drove the beating of my heart. It seared my lungs. It pounded a low and heavy thrum in my ears.

At times the anger would quiet, but it never really left me. I felt disconnected from all that was elvish within me and I also felt ridiculous for allowing myself to be so affected. But I struggled to remain outwardly calm and pleasant to the others, especially the little ones for they do see so much.

I stood watch, glad of the singular duty, seething over that knave's outburst. Take my watch? What had been his point? Surely it was not meant to help me! Did I really care to understand what motivated Boromir? No. Indeed I did not. I was simply grateful for this solitude.

Perched upon a low branch of a tree, I leaned against its trunk, seeking to take in its comfort. These trees were old, friendly and curious about this visiting woodland elf's pain. But they preferred to heal more than to they sought to know, so they swayed, humming a gentle lullaby and lending me their consolation. Would that I could have taken it in. It seemed ungrateful to be unable to do so, not that the trees themselves would mind. They lent comfort nonetheless, but my soul was full of bitterness and there was no room for solace.

I was being unreasonable, of course. Aragorn had wanted to explain, insisting that we had much to talk about, so I was being beyond unfair to presume that my beloved Ranger had abandoned me for that Gondorian child. I knew it was wrong of me to think so little of Aragorn when we had been together, belonged to each other for so long now. We were life mates. How could I jump to such unjust assumptions about his actions? But I watched myself do it anyway, unable to halt the despondency that swept me along.

I sighed and looked up at the stars, reading the time. Gimli would be arriving to relieve me soon. I had no information to report. Nothing threatening moved within my range of senses and I had extended them far and wide. I had already decided to send the dwarf back to camp when he arrived, offering to take his shift. I preferred to stay out here rather than return to camp where the source of my misery lay . . . no doubt quite near Aragorn. I was exhausted in spirit, but I knew I would not rest, as indeed I had not rested last night.

I did not care to imagine why Aragorn withheld the truth from me about spanking Boromir, other than the most obvious – he knew I would not like it. He was right. But Aragorn's action and his silence about it felt like a breaking of faith. My feelings were not all that unsuitable. Aragorn also felt that he had wronged me. He had felt it last night. I had seen the guilt and remorse filling in his gaze when we parted at his chamber door.

I took no pleasure in seeing my Ranger suffer that pain, but I was too shocked by what I had just learned to do anything but flee. I had endured my fears all day in silence, so to have them all but confirmed by Aragorn tore a wound within me.

I stormed from Aragorn's chamber, yielding the field to my enemy. I walked Rivendell's paths. I rested on the damp grass and gazed into the night sky. And Aragorn had not come to find me. Several times I brushed away tears, surprised to find them on my cheeks.

When I returned to my chamber, where I rarely stayed, Aragorn and I preferring his bed to mine, I stood looking out upon the woods until the sky began to lighten, all that time battling to close off the anger and the fear and the loneliness and the confusion. I lost that battle. I knew where Boromir had spent the night. I had passed slowly by Aragorn's chamber and had heard them both breathing within. I did not know what had transpired during the night, aside from the young man's second spanking, and I would not allow myself to think anything dishonorable of my Ranger. But the hurt inside me grew. And then I had been summoned and told that we were leaving a day early.

Aragorn had been fretting overmuch with our final preparations. I saw it at once. However, if he perceived my weariness he said nothing. I struggled to decide which was worse – Aragorn failing to notice, or Aragorn noticing and choosing to say nothing. Both were awful . . . nay, the latter was definitely worse.

I would overcome this. I would. It was absurd! I had lived amongst men for too long! I would find my calm essence, reclaim the warrior's balance I had spent thousands of years polishing. I needed time and a suitable distraction. This quest would serve as both my source of torment and my saving grace, and I would adjust. I simply had not yet determined how to ignore my adversary and my sorrow.

The dwarf approached. Such loud clumsy creatures. One dwarf easily made the racket of two men. But I was glad of Gimli's presence. He proved a fine target for my ill will.

Earlier, while the hobbits had readied the campsite and made dinner, the rest of us had walked a perimeter and found this lookout point before night closed in, so Gimli knew where I would be. But I decided to let him approach and look around for me before I spoke.

He arrived. But he was not alone. I froze. No wonder Gimli sounded like two.

"Legolas," Aragorn called in the stern voice I knew so well. "Show yourself."

Aragorn and Gimli strolled closer to the tree where I perched. The dwarf cleared his throat and rumbled, "These younger elves are dreadfully ill-mannered, are they not, Aragorn?"

Younger elves indeed! I could hardly jump down now, giving into this shameful baiting. Yet there was little point in remaining stuck up on this limb. Aragorn would find me momentarily. I was facing some humbling regardless of what I did. I chewed my bottom lip and tangled with my temper.

"Aye. Ah, well, master dwarf," Aragorn said on a sigh. "Youth."

"Hmmph!" Gimil snorted. "We dwarves have little tolerance for discourtesy in our younger folk."

Dwarves had little tolerance period.

"We teach our beardlings to respect those older and wiser."

They were almost beneath me now. I barely breathed. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at Gimli and the creature blathered on.

"We tan their wee backsides for them when it's needed and they learn most effectively."

I squirmed and ground my teeth. Aragorn merely stopped and shook his head at Gimli. "You dwarves are a savage lot," he said, a smile in his voice. Then he looked directly up at me and asked in a patient tone, "Well, sir? Are you coming down?"

Gimli titled his head back and spotted me, "Why, there he is! Did you fall asleep up there, laddie?"

I jumped to the ground and adjusted my clothing muttering, "Of course I did not fall asleep! I do not fall asleep when on watch," I said with suitable contempt. I thought I did well. I had not called him a lout.

"Oh." Gimli rolled his eyes up to Aragorn. "Oh, well, my mistake. Perhaps you simply did not hear us approach then, since you surely would've had the good manners to answer when called."

I had no reply and that vile dwarf knew it. So did Aragorn. We stood there for several long moments during which I fought my urge to apologize or to explain that which I could not. Aragorn finally came to my rescue.

"We shall take our leave of you, Master Dwarf. Boromir will relieve you later."

"No need, no need," Gimli said. "I've had my fill of sleeping this night."

"Very well," Aragorn said. He bid Gimli farewell then turned to me and tugged his head to one side. "Come with me," he said in the elvish. "I know you need rest, but first we have some things to discuss."

We had things to discuss?

I did not like the sound of that. Yet there was little I could do to protest, especially within earshot of Gimli. So I followed Aragorn on his trek deeper into the woodlands. He moved in a direction further away from the campsite, knowing that I would alert him to any danger if need be, and he was therefore safe to journey as he wished.

I could not think where he was intending to go, nor did I particularly care. Clearly he wanted to talk alone. I was his subordinate. I would comply with his orders. I would go where he told me to go, do as he commanded. Beyond that I had no thoughts.

I was just about to ask if he had forgotten something back at Imladris and we were returning for it when he finally stopped in an area at the base of a gentle incline where a small landslide had taken place ages ago leaving a sculpture of boulders and stones in various sizes, some now overgrown with moss.

I remembered this place now. When walking the perimeter earlier we had scouted it out as a possible area to set the watch but it had been too far from camp for convenience. A warning cry would not have been heard from this distance. I shot Aragorn a look.

He wandered over and wedged his torch in a space between several rocks, then he took a seat on one of the boulders and turned to me with his contemplative and quiet gaze. I knew exactly what he planned, and he knew that I knew as well. I wanted what he intended, and I did not want it. I did not want to want it.

And suddenly, looking at Aragorn, sitting there watching me, so ruggedly perfect, so familiar and comforting, I felt as if all breath left my body, and that anger and fear and staggering loss surged and grew until it exploded inside me and a massive shift rocked my entire being, ripping the pain from me and leaving behind nothing. A wall of solid stone slammed around that nothingness, closing off all connection to anything outside my calm inner core. And I fell into that core, drenched myself in it, and then stood quiet.

There was no more struggle. I stood unflinchingly under his regard. Aragorn could say what he wished, do as he wished. It meant little to me. I stared directly back at him, seeing not Aragorn, but my commanding officer. I owed this man my attention, my respect and my allegiance, nothing beyond.

Once firmly established in that discipline, nothing he did could touch me. If grief resurfaced I would address it later, but for now I could return his level gaze, feeling no impulse to fidget, feeling nothing. I could stand as fixed and unmoving as the trees around us, indeed, fashion my essence to match theirs. I would agree to what Aragorn demanded. I would submit to what he imposed. It mattered not.

And so I stood and waited for him to speak, knowing that when he did, I would respond with all due respect.

XXXXXXXXXX

I vow, an actual physical change came over Legolas when he did this. His stance hardened with each inward breath, his bright eyes dulled, his features held no life, even his hair seemed to loose its luster.

But I knew what had happened to him. Legolas had drifted into that silent place wherein he removed himself from everything, everything we were to each other and all we had ever been to each other. We had been life mates since my coming of age, loved and trusted each other. Yet my Legolas had been driven to this despair. He had taken refuge from his hurt feelings behind a wall of cold distance. It was eerie, seeing him sink this low. He had only done this a few times, but I now recognized how far distanced from me he was.

"_I move into a place wherein you become no more to me than any other warrior,"_ he had once confessed, wrapped up in my arms, half-draped upon me, and trembling more from the aftershock of those powerful emotions than from the spanking he had just received. _"It is shattering, to find myself so alone and so far removed, so lost and far from you."_

"_Oh, my poor beloved,"_ I had whispered, kissing his head and stroking his hair, trying to comfort him with my touch.

"_It is an awful thing to feel,"_ he went on, seemingly needing to talk about it. _"I see myself pulling away, and I cannot seem to stop it. I become two people, the more angry, hurt one in control, pulling me back and away from you. But, then, when you are spanking me . . . then something else happens . . . I begin to find myself again, and I can feel again, and I . . . I --"_

"_Shhh, it is over now, elfling mine."_

"_I am sorry, Aragorn."_ And Legolas had cuddled closer, burrowing deeper into my arms, as though seeking to further escape the darkness he had just been through. _"So sorry. I know it hurts you, too."_

"_Hush now. You are safe, back with me. No more of that now. No more sorries needed, sweetling. All is forgiven. Shhhh."_

It shocked me that Legolas could wrench himself free from all he knew, remove himself from the years of love we had shared and all we were to each other. I vow that only the elves, capable of tremendous concentration, could do it. But I was comforted by the fact that he knew what he had done, and that it so rarely happened to him. Legolas only did this when his sadness was so profound that he could not exist in the same space with it.

It hurt to see him in that place now, and it threatened to drag me down to where I would be of no use to either of us. When Legolas fell to this depth it took all my resolve to keep from wallowing in the guilt that tried to bury me with brutal accusations as they did now: I had let this matter go for too long. I had not dealt with it when I needed to. I had neglected him, wounded him, perhaps irreparably. Perhaps I would not be able to save him this time. He may have moved beyond even my reach. And the most vicious, most self-serving notion of all – perhaps Legolas was better off without me.

My arguments as to why all this had happened meant little, for they were based on mere logic, and logic carries no weight in matters of the heart. Difficult circumstances or lack of time were never good excuses. It mattered not that I had meant to prepare Legolas before telling him of my new attentions to Boromir, that I had never wanted to leave him with this. I could have sought him out last night after my fledgling fell asleep. I could have risen and left my chamber and gone out into the night to find my pain-ridden elfling. I need not have fallen asleep myself. What did my weariness matter when Legolas was alone and tormented and in need of my care? What could have possibly been more important, least of all my own physical demands? But I had given in to those feeble demands and slept.

The only thing that kept me from allowing that guilt to overwhelm me was the sight of Legolas, suffering, lost to himself. My weakness had sent him to this isolation. I would not leave him there. The connection between us remained, strong enough for me to tug upon it and bring him back to me. And that connection burned within him, too, a small but strong glitter in his otherwise dead eyes, shining like a silent plea: _"I am here. Please. Come find me."_

I fully intended to.

"So, you resent Boromir," I began.

He did not even flinch. "Aye."

"Why?"

"He is offensive."

"Is that all?"

"How much do you need, my lord?"

'My lord.' Ah. Such distance. Such formality. I shrugged. "Is he, say, more offensive than the dwarf?"

"His offenses differ."

I paused to consider him. "Differ how?"

"My lord?"

I sighed. "Tell me how his offences differ from the dwarf's."

He paused, then said, "I fear I cannot do so."

"Why not?"

"They are personal dislikes, difficult to summarize."

"I see. And how do you suggest we resolve this?"

He remained impassive. "It is not for me to say, my lord. I shall, however, obey your command."

"And if I command you to take your orders from Boromir henceforth?"

"Then I shall do so."

Very well. I knew now for certain where he was. He had no ability to touch anything but his sense of duty. Legolas had gone that full distance from me. During the few times that this had happened before Legolas had faded into an almost wraith-like shadow of his luminous self. And I had been the cause of it.

There could be no more talking. He needed action. And so did I. It mattered little that his physical prowess surpassed mine. The physical responded to what the mind ordered, and at present my elfling's emotional strength was crippled. However, my anger and fear bolstered mine to an overwhelming level. So Legolas would now fight me, but he would not win. He did not want to win.

I stood slowly, purposefully and removed my weapons, laying them carefully aside, my gaze fastened on him. "Enough talk, sir," I said. "Lay down your weapons."

He raised his chin. "Aragorn--"

"Set them aside. Now."

"I shall not allow this."

"I know."

"I cannot allow this."

"I know. Set them aside. Now."

I watched him remain rigid for another moment, then he slowly did as I commanded, laying his weapons at the edge of the clearing and returning to his place on the small grassy patch near the boulders. Every gesture was stiff, so removed was he from anything that resembled an honest feeling. He faced me again, impassive and cold.

"Do not do this, Aragorn. There is no need. And I have no wish to humiliate you."

"I doubt you shall, sweetling, but thank you for your concern."

"But I told you that I would obey whatever commands you gave me."

"Very well." I stepped back and reseated myself on the boulder. "Then come here, lower your leggings, and lay yourself across my lap."

He did not move.

"Legolas."

He remained still and wide-eyed.

"Now, sir."

"Why, my lord?" he finally asked. "You have always had a reason for giving me a spanking. So what have I done to deserve such treatment?"

"You began by listening in on a private conversation between Boromir and I. You were then rude to him from the balcony. And then last night you baited him with some quite vulgar elvish."

"What harm was done? He could not understand me."

"But I could. The harm was in your unkind intent. And when conditions are favorable, I intend to treat your foul mouth to a proper cleansing. Sam brought plenty of soap."

Legolas paled visibly, a promising flash of emotion igniting in his startled blue eyes. Ah! There was my elfling.

"You said last night that you would speak no more of what happened," he said. "I thought all was forgiven."

"I have reconsidered the matter. You are too important to me, Legolas. I do not want to appear remiss. Now come here."

He shook his head slowly. "I shall not--"

Of course he could not submit. He would have to be forced. He was begging to be forced. One last time I said, "Come. Here."

"No."

XXXXXXXXXX

I watched him rise and advance. It would have to come to this. I could not, would not submit. He would have to force me, and he was clearly quite ready to do so. Despite my approaching doom, a small fire ignited within my stomach. It is a stirring sight when Aragorn is stalking prey. It is even more stirring when I am the prey.

I wished he had not chosen this course of action. But he was right, of course. I had just said that I would do whatever he commanded, so I should have removed myself from caring about what he did to me, willingly obeyed his orders and stretched myself over his lap.

Part of me had longed to do just that. And part of me knew it was impossible to allow it.

Aragorn's spankings were humbling, difficult to endure and distressingly long lasting, but they were always fair. I deserved every spanking he had ever given me, each spanking invited by my own actions.

But not this time. Aye, perhaps my temper had been surfacing too much, but I had been provoked! I had a right to my dislikes and I did not like this man from Gondor! It was unfair of Aragorn to spank me for that. If he thought I would or could submit myself to him for that reason, he was sadly mistaken. And as for him soaping out my mouth – oh! How I dreaded that act! Perhaps a little compliance now would stay that horrible fate, but compliance was unappealing as well.

But I had no more time to contemplate the fairness of anything, because Aragorn was upon me. He grabbed me by the forearm in an iron grip and began to drag me towards the boulders. He did not get far. I braced my legs, gave a powerful yank, and he flew backwards landing on his seat. Kicking his leg out he caught me behind my heels and a second later I was on flat my back beside him. Then Aragorn pounced and our struggle began, and I immediately remembered something.

When Aragorn and I fought over a threatened spanking he had always shown extraordinary strength and resolve, whereas I always faltered into some kind of bewildering deficiency. My muscles and limbs went weak, the way they sometimes had when I was a sapling and unused to spirits and the celebratory wine had flowed too freely in my father's halls. I should have been able to trounce Aragorn as easily as I trounced any mere human, but with my strength suddenly drained I found myself simply fighting to hold my own.

It was worrisome, perplexing and most inconvenient. And it made no sense. My determination was always absolute, or so it seemed. And yet Aragorn would have the upper hand the entire time, as indeed he did now.

I could never understand how Aragorn always won, even though I told myself that _this_ time he would not be victorious. And, while somehow losing such a battle was exasperating, the consequences were even more loathsome. I would be hauled over his knee and subjected to a particularly intense spanking. Defiance had its price.

This time was no different than all the others. I was trying. I did best Aragorn in several maneuvers. But he bested me in more and while my lagging energy drained quickly, his seemed to gain strength. It was infuriating! It was unfair! And it inspired a bit of unfairness of my own. It made me fight dishonorably.

At one point, Aragorn had me down on my stomach, my arms twisted and held at the small of my back while he sat upon my behind. "Yield!" he said.

I spat out the grass in my mouth and sputtered, "Aye!" And the moment his weight left me I flipped over and sent him sprawling with a fierce kick to his ribs.

I scrambled to my feet, but I did not get far before he grabbed me and downed me again, his outrage increasing his strength even more. By now I was near spent, so unlike me, so frightening this weakness, this exhaustion, and so terribly advantageous for my Ranger! And, of course, Aragorn being Aragorn knew that my will had finally collapsed. I was now defenseless against him, impossibly, ridiculously defenseless, just as it had happened before, every time I had challenged his authority and refused to comply. I had lost to my Ranger.

Aragorn picked me up, hauled me to the boulder, turned me over his knee and had me secured within moments, with my leggings pulled down and my backside exposed, bent over his left thigh. His right leg closed over both of mine to stop any kicking. And finally, ever considerate of my comfort, Aragorn lifted my upper body and settled me across the wide boulder, that I might rest easy during my imminent bottom scalding. His message was clear: I was going to be here for a while. I shuddered, my skin flinching, my heart thudding.

"Aye, feel where you are, sweetling," Aragorn murmured, leaning over me, his arm wrapped tightly around my lower back, his warm body covering me. "My pretty Legolas, bare-bottomed and over my knee, yet again. Not even your naughty underhandedness in our scuffle failed to keep you off my lap." He patted my backside. "But, shhh. How you do tremble, elfling mine! So tense. My poor little one."

I whimpered and tensed more, this waiting making my insides churn.

"Very well," he said, straightening again. "Let us get on with this. And do not fuss, sweet bratling elf. I shall take care of all your burdensome waywardness."

I still vow that a spanking I was being forced to accept was worse than one I submitted to gracefully. There was no slow build up. Not that Aragorn ever held much back from the start, but it was more intense when I had given him trouble. He began swatting down fast and hot, clearly determined to get my attention immediately. He did. I squeezed my eyes closed and bit my lips shut, refusing to cry out even though the stinging heat on my bottom built swiftly and terribly.

Aragorn spanked me as if driven by some force beyond himself. Yet he was still in control, as he always was. He never frightened me. He was simply intent on making his point. Aye, he was blistering my bottom, making me gulp and pant and release inadvertent, desperate little sounds, making me wriggle and try to squirm away, though I could barely move. But I was safe, and I shook my head at the absurdity of that.

Of course he said nothing, his usual pattern. Aragorn spanked silently at the outset. No distractions. He allowed me nothing to think about save my rapidly heating bottom. I had once tried to incite him into speech, much good it did me:

"_Arag-gorn! Pleeeease! I-I am r-ready to t-talk n-noooowww!"_ No response, only steady spanks, hot and constant. _"T-Talk to meee! Please, p-pleeeease talk to me!"_ Silence. Just a barely audible sigh. _"I-I am soorrry! I-I want to t-talk about it! Aragorn, pleeeease!" _

And when I could get nothing out of him I lashed out in my frustration and uttered enough foul Sindarin to earn me a mouthful of soap directly following my spanking. But Aragorn never responded. Only when he was ready, when he was satisfied with my surrender, did he speak, and he began by scolding me for my naughty attempt to coerce him. Afterwards, when he had me cuddled against him, he kissed my head and chuckled over my behavior:

"_I vow you honestly thought I would allow such impudence,"_ he said. _"It was too amusing, little one. I had to let you continue, just to see where you intended to go."_

Infuriating Ranger!

And now Aragorn's spanking began to seem unending. It had been unending! I longed to kick or buck or wrench about. But all I could do was cringe and quiver and hold my breath, waiting for each stinging spank to fall, igniting my throbbing bottom. Finally, I burst into tears. I sobbed. I again tried to wriggle away from his next searing spank, to no avail. Then I lost all control and reached back to cover my blazing backside with my hand.

Aragorn sighed, lifted his knee to raise my behind and began spanking the tender undercurve of my bottom.

"Legolas," he said, and it was enough.

"AHHHHHHHHH! S-Sorry! Sorrrrrrry!" I wailed, snatching my hand back. I knotted my fists near my shoulders and wondered what the Valar I had thought to achieve. And with a quiet 'mmm' Aragorn went on, his spanks returning to my burning backside, hardly a blessing. He spanked on, and I wailed on, and time held still.

But eventually I became aware that the solid wall I had formed around my core had crumbled. Aragorn and his steadily falling hand raining down blow after blow had forced me to accept this from him, forced me to accept that he decided what he would do to me, and when he would do it, and for how long, forcing me to take what he knew I needed, what he knew I wanted.

And I did want this, so badly. It was the horror of possibly losing it that had ignited the anguish within me. Aragorn's attention was essential to me. It was always attention invited, needed, longed for, relished. Aye, it sometimes took the form of what he was doing to me right now. But, oh! How cherished an act.

I could not imagine any pain greater than losing the attention, the care, and the affection of one who had lavished such gifts upon me so freely, but the prospect of it had sent me into a downward spiral so profound that Aragorn had needed to thrash me this intensely in order to help me see reason and rediscover the truth. And he would not stop until he felt me back with him in heart and spirit, ready to submit to him, ready to hear him.

Truth slammed into me as solidly as Aragorn's hand spanked my throbbing bottom, hurting even more, a blessed wondrous hurt. Of course nothing had changed between us! My beloved Estel cared for me, loved me, noticed everything concerning me as he ever had, just as I ever had concerning him. Aragorn and I had shared loving relations for more years than the young man from Gondor had been living. Boromir's arrival made no difference in that.

I felt a wash of embarrassment amidst my wails. What had I been thinking? What had come over me? Aragorn most certainly was not ignoring me now. He had not intentionally ignored me at all. Time and happenstance and the unfortunate arrival of a compelling and intrusive young warrior from Gondor had created the turmoil within me. It had nothing to do with how Aragorn felt. And he was proving that now. He would not allow my unmannerly behavior to go unanswered. He was proving his devotion to me with every grueling spank. I still mattered to him.

I sobbed louder and shook my head against the surge of hot feelings, my feelings of stupidity and shame for having doubted him, my feelings of anger at myself, and I writhed fitfully, as best I could manage under his hold, which was not much, my hair tangling across my face now wet with tears.

Ohhhh, I was more than ready to yield. Now, would Aragorn allow me to yield anytime in the near future?

XXXXXXXXXX

Legolas was fast approaching his shattering point. He became more frantic during a spanking he was forced to take as opposed to a spanking he felt he deserved, so it took him longer to surrender, his anger and confusion getting in the way of reason. But he did eventually reach a point of understanding. This time his resistance had seemed especially staunch. Where he found the energy I know not, for after our wrestling match and his frenzied, useless squirming over my lap he seemed exhausted.

But of course it was always the battle within that drained Legolas the most, as indeed it had lessened his strength during our little scuffle. He had done his best to both win and lose that skirmish, but his inner conflict weakened him before we had even begun. I had actually let our paltry fight last longer than I needed to, hoping to tire him further, and I let him win a few maneuvers to help him salvage some of his elvish pride.

But Legolas seemed ready to listen now, ready to talk this out, so I began quietly: "How is my elfling?"

"AHHHHHH!"

"Legolas. You can do better than that."

"I am sorrryyyyy! Oh, p-please, Aragorn! Please, p-please, stop!" he wailed.

"Aye, little one," I said softly. "Soon."

"Now! P-Pleeease!"

I swatted down hard, watching him arch and cry out. "Do you decide when this spanking ends, sir?"

"N-Nooo! Y-You decide. Y-You dooo!"

"I thought as much."

"But, Ara'gorn," he gasped between repeated sobs. "P-Please! I-I am sorry!"

"For what, _melleth nin_?" I asked, slowing my spanks. "What is my elfling sorry for?"

"S-Sorry for listening, and-and for b-being mean to B-Bor'mir! I-I said bad th-things to him!"

"Naughty words, you mean?"

Legolas buried his face in his crossed arms and nodded, clearly and adorably embarrassed and, at last, completely surrendered.

"Uh-huhhh!"

"Naughty elvish words?"

More nodding. "Aye, Ara'gorn! N-Naughty elvish."

"Hmm." I slowed my spanking even more, nearly stopping now, his usually fair bottom now a dark rosy hue. "Well, perhaps it does not matter. After all, Boromir did not understand your elvish tongue."

Legolas raised his head, shaking his silky blond locks and whimpering, "Noooo! It-It matters! I-I should not have done th-that! And-And I-I am sorry! I was t-trying to be mean!"

My poor elfling. Each slow swat was making him flinch and quiver, his level of upset such that he was clearly having trouble saying what he meant. I decided to help him along. "Perhaps it was your intent to hurt and insult that matters. Is that what you are trying to say, sweetling?"

"Aye!" Legolas wailed. "In-Inten-tent! M-Matters, Ara'gorn! It d-does!"

Smiling at his childlike terms, I stopped spanking and tenderly began to rub his hot backside. "Aye, sweetling," I said. "It does."

Weeping steadily, Legolas lowered his head to his arms once more, and I shifted him, releasing his imprisoned legs and re-draping him so that he lay stretched out fully over my lap. There was no more resistance. He was limp and surrendered. I did not let him up, though. I sensed he had more to say.

"A-Ara'gorn, I-I was un-unkind t-to Bor'mir!" he finally exclaimed between weeping.

"Ah, and why was my gentle Legolas unkind?" I asked.

"I-I was --" He paused to weep a little, then: "J-Jealous. I-I was j-jealous of him. S-So sorry, Ara'gorn! So, stupid of me. I should have known b-better!"

I winced, my own guilty feelings growling within. And suddenly I needed Legolas in my arms. So I scooped him up, cuddling my elf to me, letting his sore bottom drop between my spread legs. He clung to me and I rocked him, listening to his hitching low sobs. But this was just my Legolas, crying from his spanking and from the remorse of feeling he had been naughty, not from any vicious inner torment.

"Shh, sweetling," I murmured. "I cannot allow you to speak of yourself so, and should I hear you call yourself stupid again, you shall go back over my knee. What you felt was understandable."

He paused and drew back, perfectly beautiful in his distress, his blue eyes bright and glassy with tears. "Understandable? It-It was?"

"Aye. Very understandable." I kissed him gently, then said, "And I love you elfling mine. Nothing can ever change my love for you. You know that."

"Aye, Estel. I-I do know. As I l-love you."

And that was all that needed saying. He came into my arms again with a whimpered gasp and I continued to rock him a little longer, then I shifted, moving and settling us down upon the grass with Legolas gathered to me just as I had held Boromir two nights before.

I smiled and smoothed my cheek against the crown of his silky hair, thinking of how different he and Boromir felt in my arms, so different and yet so alike. Both needing this closeness, as I did, both practically lying atop me while holding on, both making small moves against me, rubbing into me as if trying to get closer, as if trying to somehow become part of me. And I cherished all of it. We lay like that in silence for as long as I felt we could, but we could not stay there all night, and there was much to discuss.

"How is my elfling?" I finally asked in soft Sindarin, kissing his forehead.

"Fine, Estel. I am f-fine now."

"Legolas." I waited.

"Weary. So very weary."

"I know."

"And you also know I shall walk stiffly tomorrow." He pouted adorably.

I smiled. "I always like watching you walk after a spanking."

He grinned again and buried his face in my chest. "Hmmph."

Kissing him again, I said, "We have much to discuss and not much time. I needs tell you a tale, little one."

He nodded and I began telling him the tale of Thorongil and of a bright little child from Minas Tirith who adored the mysterious hero. I told him of how Boromir, firstborn of Denethor, attached himself to the warrior and how they formed a bond that even Denethor himself envied. I told him of the day I had to leave the city, choosing to move on, pressured by the increasing ill-will from the jealous father, and then I told him of what it felt like to see that boy ride into Rivendell, a warrior himself, proud and strong and full-grown, but still the lonely child I knew so well.

Legolas listened quietly, barely breathing it seemed. I told him what I knew, what I had learned from Boromir about his father and Faramir, though careful to not reveal anything I felt Boromir would rather Legolas not know.

When I began to speak about the events leading up to, and including, Boromir's first spanking Legolas lifted his face to gaze at me, his large compassionate blue eyes swimming with fresh tears. I knew they were tears for that little boy who was lost and in need, adrift in loneliness and anguish and the longing for the simple attention he so deserved. I kissed my beloved softly, knowing I need say no more.

"Aragorn," he finally ventured, his voice a soft hush, "I have wronged him."

"Nay, shhhh. What I said before is true, sweetling - your feelings were understandable. And you and Boromir are equally accountable for your actions."

"I-I feared you had . . . ."

"Shhh, I know. Enough."

"But, Aragorn, I-I must explain. Please, let me . . . let me . . . ."

I nodded. Perhaps it was best he let this out. He pulled back slightly so that he could look directly at me, bravely settling more weight on his backside than he was comfortable with if his wince was any indication. Intrepid elf.

"I thought you . . . well, I thought perhaps you . . . ." His worried gaze said all. He could not bring himself to admit to his lack of faith in me. "I am sorry, Estel. So sorry, to have thought so little of you, to have doubted you for even a moment --"

"Hush," I said, gathering him close again. "Shhh, hush, elfling mine. Enough I say. You have nothing to apologize for, Legolas, save that foul temper." I heard him answer my grin with his own. "And I shall always make you answer to me for that."

"You always have."

He burrowed in closer, clearly loving my stern attention. I gave him more comfort to enjoy. "You have not been given leave to behave as you see fit, elfling mine. I am watching as I always have been."

A small sob broke free from him, quickly muffled as he pressed his face against my body. I crushed him to me, warmed by his breath on my neck and the feel of his strong, graceful form against mine.

"My attention shall never stray from you, beloved. I promise. Remember that. I simply have another youngling to watch over."

He scoffed and said, "Youngling indeed! Need I remind you of my vastly superior age, human?"

"You have more years, Legolas, not more maturity," I returned with teasing disdain.

"And you take far too much upon yourself, Ranger-child!" he shot back.

I burst into gales of laughter. He had not called me that for a long time. Legolas laughed too, sheepishly. Clearly he was startled to hear the old name come out of his mouth as well.

We remained lying together in the soft night for as long as we dared, then we had to gather our things and head back. I dropped back a few paces on our way, letting Legolas walk ahead of me, and when he turned I grinned and said, "I told you I liked to watch you walk like that."

He blushed strongly enough to see by torchlight and he gave me a smirk of annoyance. "You are incorrigible," he muttered.

Just before we arrived back at the camp I stopped him and said, "There is something else, Legolas. I-I ask that you forgive me for allowing you to suffer so."

He stared at me in frank amazement. "But, Aragorn, your spankings always hurt --"

"No, no, my friend," I quickly said. "I mean that I should have talked to you about Boromir before you found out and had to suffer the knowledge of it alone. It was wrong of me not to prepare you. I was lax in my duty to you and I am sorry, so sorry for what you suffered because of my weakness."

He looked stunned. "Aragorn, I found out you had spanked Boromir because I listened to a private conversation. The fault was mine."

"But last night when you left my chamber, I-I did not seek you out to ease your mind--"

"Because there was no time!" he interrupted. "No time last night and no time today."

"I could have found you last night, and instead I fell asleep--"

"Because you were tired!" he interrupted again. "You are human, Aragorn! You are going to be tired at times, and you needed your rest! 'Tis true – I spent a difficult night, but that was of my making, not yours. I had allowed my fears and doubts full reign. But you are not to responsible for that. And I refuse to permit you to assume blame for it!"

I considered hauling him over my knee again if he interrupted me once more. But the tone in his voice made me pause . . . .

There are times when Legolas sounds far too sensible to suit me, times when he becomes that other Legolas, fully capable of dealing with me as I had just dealt with him, times when he will not be argued with. This moment had suddenly become one of those times. I was not going to win.

I thought it over briefly and decided that this issue was really of small concern. Legolas would not accept an apology. Clearly the matter was finished . . . for him. I would deal with what my heart told me on my own, learn from it, and hopefully never do it again.

I nodded and smiled and said, "As you will, sir."

Legolas looked thoughtful. We started walking again and he was silent for a few moments, then he suddenly said, "Aragorn, you were . . . well, I was wondering . . . ."

I gave him a moment, then looked over and said, "Yes?"

"About the soap . . . you were in jest, were you not?"

"No."

"What?"

"Shh! We do not want to wake any sleeping little ones."

"You cannot have meant it!"

"Sam packed plenty of soap, Legolas. I intend to use some of it on your nasty mouth when we come to a good source of water."

He stopped short, staring at me again with those wide eyes full of horror.

"Fear not," I said. "I shall do it when there is no one else around."

"You are in jest." He chuckled lightly. "You are."

I simply smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

He was watching me again. I felt the elf's eyes upon me as I worked with Merry and Pippin.

The hobbits were clumsy with their wee swords, but they were doing well, all but poor little Frodo. He simply didn't have much aptitude for the sword. He did try, and Sam made an effort to help him, a bit too much actually, but Frodo had difficulty asserting himself and he couldn't seem to work up the necessary fierceness. Perhaps he would in time. He worried me, though, this small gentle soul heading into the heart of darkness. I would need to stay near him should we ever come under attack, but then, I sensed that Aragorn would rather assume that charge, and of course I would yield to whatever he willed.

Three days out of Rivendell now and we were forming into a more cohesive group, getting to know each other. It had been a strange few days with the elf, starting with the morning after my unfortunate offer to take his watch. Legolas seemed to have somehow calmed in the night, although how the change occurred I cannot say as I slept so soundly, Gimli apparently not needing to be relieved. But Legolas didn't glare at me once during the second day, nor today and I began to wonder what had happened to him to affect such a change in attitude. Aragorn had said he would talk to him, and I guess that worked wonders.

Whatever the reason, I was certainly glad of it since I felt eager to honor Merry's valid concerns by striving for a more harmonious relationship with Legolas. At the time I'd despaired of exactly how I was going to achieve that, given his hostility towards me, but now it looked as if peace between us might indeed come to pass. We were still keeping our distance from each other, but I sensed in him a willingness to try, and it felt promising.

After dismissing my hobbit students I strolled down to a stream that meandered through the woods a little ways from our camp. Sam was there, wringing out something he'd just washed, no doubt one of Frodo's belongings. Sam was such a faithful servant and good-hearted little soul. He was never far from Frodo, so to see him alone was unusual. He flashed his ready smile and hailed me as I approached.

"Ho, Boromir! Did Pippin attack you?"

"He did indeed, Master Gamgee. I have come to revive myself and splash water on my wounds."

He chuckled and gathered up his things, coming over to meet me as I reached the water's edge. "You have to watch out for them Tooks," he said with a mischievous grin. "They have fierce tempers."

"I vow the Brandybucks can outdo them."

"Oh, bless me yes!" He laughed again, then he grew suddenly quiet and looked up at me, his youthful face serious and full of honest concern. "I just wanted to say that, well, I know you're working hard with Mister Frodo, with all of us that is, and it's so good of you, but, what I mean to say is, he's doing his best you know. Mister Frodo, he's not a warrior type, if you understand my meaning."

I smiled down at him gently and looked away for a moment, gathering myself. Such loyalty and love. I did hold these hobbits dear. Looking down at him I asked, "Do you think I am being too hard on him, Sam?"

"Oh no!" he quickly stated. "No, no, not at all!"

"Because he will need to learn--"

"I know, Boromir," he interrupted eagerly. "And that's what I meant to say, is that, well, I love Mister Frodo, and I plan to be at his side always, but I can't count on that working out the way I want it to, if you know what I mean. I wanted to protect him at Weathertop, and, and--"

He lowered his gaze and swallowed hard and my heart went out to him. I nearly pulled him up into my arms to comfort him, but I held off, letting him work this out.

"You did your best, Sam. All of you did. I am certain of it."

"Aye, but it wasn't enough," he said, looking up with now glassy eyes. "And that's my point. Something like that could happen again, at any time, and when it does Frodo needs to able to protect himself."

I saw at once where he was heading. His earnest little expression carried his fear and his worries so plainly he need not have said another word, but he went on.

"I never thought I'd ever hear myself say this to anyone, but I hope you understand what I mean when I say that you've got to be tougher on him, Boromir. He needs to be ready. He has to learn. That's bound to be hard on him, but that's just as it is. Better he learn now than . . . ." He couldn't finish the thought. "And I've got to stop helping him so much when you're trying to teach him."

It was obviously wrenching for him to say that, but it would've been even more wrenching for him to have held it in. I nodded. "I understand."

Sam sniffed then released a great breath. He scrubbed his forearm over his face, disguising his need to wipe away the anxious tears that had clouded his eyes. "Don't blame yourself, sir. Frodo, well, he has this way about him, always has. Folks just watch out for him, you know? They can't help themselves."

I did indeed know. "He's lucky to have you, Sam," I said smiling down at him.

He blushed and shrugged. "I feel like as not that I'm the lucky one. But I'm off to fix us some supper."

He turned and scurried away. I went to the stream to splash some water on my face, then stood shaking off my hands.

"They are so loyal and loving, these little ones."

I flinched at the voice, my hand instantly on my sword. But it was mere instinct, for the moment I heard it I knew it was Legolas who had spoken. He stepped from the shadows of the gathering dusk and wandered towards me. I was too surprised to say anything for a moment. I think they were the first kindly spoken words he'd ever said to me. I collected myself.

"Aye, they certainly are."

Legolas shifted his weight to one leg and kicked absentmindedly at the small stones lining the water's edge. "You are teaching them well, Boromir." He lifted his gaze and looked directly up at me. "It is a great kindness you are bestowing upon them."

Again I was too stunned to respond right away. I glanced down, my face beginning to warm. "It is no more than needed doing," I said. "But, thank you."

"I would guess that you have had few dealings with halflings," he ventured.

"None," I admitted. I lifted a smile to him. "But they are wonderful, are they not?"

He smiled back. "Aye, these four especially."

"They are delightful to watch together."

"So close," he added.

"And playful."

"And impossible."

We both laughed, then I said, "So like brothers, loving brothers."

"Aye, most loving." The intimate tone in Legolas' voice drew my quick glance.

"Closer, even, than brothers," I said softly.

"Close in a different manner."

We exchanged quiet smiles. A silence fell. I sensed in him a need to say something, something I wished to say as well. And all at once, to my astonishment, Legolas didn't strike me as a pompous elf trying to make my life miserable. I saw him as simply a young elf, oddly bewildered by his own sudden awkwardness, vulnerable, even, astoundingly so. I watched him, fascinated by my change in feelings towards him, and I immediately thought to help him by perhaps beginning to talk of the matter with which he was so clearly struggling. But I recalled my blunder in trying to help Legolas out before. He had initiated this encounter, and it suddenly seemed more polite to allow him to guide it. I waited.

"I . . . ." He faltered, and studied the ground searchingly. I clenched my teeth to keep from interrupting. Then he quickly looked up at me again, his eyes now calm and sincere. "I have wronged you, Boromir."

"I have wronged you as well," I blurted out, unable to hold back a moment longer.

We both breathed quick little grins. I nodded at a fallen log nearby and said, "Perhaps we could sit and talk?"

Legolas gave the log a wary glance then shot one at me as well, but he joined me. He did not sit when I did, though. I glanced up in question. Legolas had actually become red-faced. He shifted from foot to foot, then he muttered, "I shall stand, thank you."

A hot jolt shot through me. Those were the words I had spoken to Aragorn the day he had teased me about sitting on the bench! I stared hard at Legolas. His face said all. He had heard me that day? He . . . he knew? He knew that Aragorn had spanked me?

I blinked and studied him more closely, but Legolas was clearly not trying to hide the truth. More hot explosions fired within me, thousands at once: He had heard! Impossibly, he had indeed heard! And he'd known my secret for days now! I could scarce fathom my humiliation, and what followed it was worse.

I stood slowly, gaping at him, my humiliation forgotten in light of the obvious explanation as to why Legolas did not want to sit! Aragorn had – he had . . . ! And he had said nothing to me about spanking Legolas, not even a hint that he did such a thing!

Legolas watched me his eyes growing huge. "Please, Boromir, sit down. You look ill."

Ill? I didn't know what I was but I certainly was not ill! Ill? My stomach churned and my limbs shook, surging feelings of anger and betrayal and . . . and . . . ill? Of all things! I felt an overwhelming urge to lay into Legolas and then go lay into Aragorn!

I felt ridiculous. Why, after all, should I care? But I did care! I cared very much! And I did not like this, any of it! I tried to draw a normal breath, tried to hear what Legolas was saying.

"Please, listen to me," he said in an urgent tone. "I know how you feel. I do, Boromir. I felt just as you do now when I listened in on your conversation that morning, the teasing little interplay between the two of you, about the bench. I listened, for elves have extraordinary hearing. I invaded your privacy, and I apologize. Would that I had not, for then I knew that Aragorn had done to you what he had ever done to me. Aragorn had taken you over his knee, disciplined you . . . my Aragorn had spanked you. So . . . so, you see, Boromir, I do know how you feel. I . . . I do."

I listened to his somber, quiet voice. I took in the deep radiance of his eyes, and I saw that Legolas did know how I felt. I couldn't stop trembling, but I heard him. And I realized that if he alone had shared this relationship with Aragorn for a long time, then Legolas was, oddly enough, the only one who could understand how I felt right now. Aragorn spanking the hobbits likely made Legolas smile, as it had me. Like me, Legolas probably sanctioned it. But my involvement was an entirely different matter for him.

"I should not have listened that morning," he repeated. "It was wrong of me, and I beg your forgiveness. In fact, I have wronged you in many ways, sir, and I am sorry. I-I have no excuse. I was simply . . . ."

Legolas paused and dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. My chest tightened at the sight of him, seeming suddenly so young and uncertain. Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. Uncertain before me.

"I-I was afraid," he bravely continued, struggling to murmur his words. "It seemed that you . . . you had seemed to come and take over. He was with you so often, and . . . and he became so fond of you, so quickly." Looking up at me suddenly, he charged on: "But I did not know that he had met you when you were a child. I had never heard that story. I did not understand your history with Aragorn.

"All I saw was a beautiful young warrior, a man, not elfkind, but a man, and my Aragorn taking that warrior's side against me, and . . . and it was wrong of me to think this, so stupid of me, really. . . but I seemed unable to stop myself from these vile thoughts . . . and I imagined that perhaps you were . . . perhaps you were taking my Aragorn away from me."

I blinked, and I stared up at this beautiful elf, seeing his discomfort, his silent and gallant struggle, understanding all that he was fighting to admit, and his shame in admitting it. And I suddenly understood what he'd been suffering. I realized what had driven Legolas to such angry extremes, and I shuddered from the power of it. Given the circumstances, he had actually shown remarkable restraint with me.

I would likely have seen it the same way: A usurper had invaded his place with Aragorn, threatening to take away what Legolas had enjoyed exclusively, an invader who had been confrontational to him as well. A warm swelling of sadness expanded in my chest. I had just begun to enjoy the comfort of Aragorn's attention, and I knew that the loss of it, especially the threat of losing it to an intruder, would be devastating. Yes, I could imagine how that would feel.

And I'd only known such comfort for a few days. Legolas had clearly cherished it for some time. What might the fear of such a loss have been like for him? I couldn't fathom such anguish. How had he borne it? How had controlled himself to the degree he had?

A sharp pain grasped my heart, ripping through me, tightening my throat, stinging my eyes. Again I didn't think. I simply acted. I rose and moved to Legolas and gathered him in my arms. I had to hold him. I had to pull him to me, let him know how sorry I was for what he had suffered, how sorry I was to have been a part of that suffering.

Legolas stiffened for only a heartbeat, and then his arms came around me, desperately, clinging to me with a strength that nearly took my breath away. But I held him with all my strength in return, letting him cling as firmly as he needed to. We tightened our hold, suddenly understanding so well all that we had in common, all that bound us together into this tight embrace of brotherhood.

Legolas lowered his head to my shoulder and I buried my face in his silky mane, breathing in his most intoxicating, unearthly scent and we held on to each other, saying nothing and saying so much. I heard him sniff and I blinked back my own threatening tears, trying to quiet my regrets. Finally we drew back, still holding on to each other by the waist and gazing into each others' eyes. Legolas was an incredibly exquisite creature. I hoped my eyes reflected as much kindness and compassion as did his.

Again I astonished myself. I reached up and smoothed a few stray hairs from his perfect cheeks, then I boldly ran my palm down his bright tresses and toyed with his delicate braid. I had to smile. How wonderful this felt! Holding Legolas, and being held by him, for I felt Legolas holding me back, supporting me as I was him.

He grinned in return, then it was his turn to astonish me. He leaned forward and kissed me, ever so softly, but the thrill of it, the touch of his mouth on mine, that brief puff of sweet elvish breath mixing with mine sent a hot quiver shooting through me. He drew back, a quiet look of triumph in his eyes. I blushed foolishly and sought my composure.

"How . . . How did you keep from killing me?" I asked.

He released a gentle laugh. "I had you in my sights several times."

"I would be long dead if you had."

"Well, I felt we needed a strong arm to help protect the little ones," he said lightly.

We talked then, mostly sharing words of understanding and apologies for our ill-mannered behavior towards each other. Legolas refused to translate the elvish curses he had hurled at me a few nights before, but he laughed at my asking.

"I dare not teach them to you, sir, lest you forget yourself someday and use one within earshot of Aragorn."

I sat on the log again, but Legolas once more hesitated. A sudden urge hit me and I patted my lap, saying, "Come, nice and comfortable."

He shot me such an astonished look that I had to laugh, and I quickly explained the significance of what he had overheard Aragorn teasing me about that day at the stone bench. Legolas grinned beautifully while I told the story of the hobbits' conversation. Then he sighed and shook his head.

"Aragorn has a little-boyish streak in him, you know," he said. "He sometimes cannot keep from teasing."

I smirked. "So I have noticed. That night after you and I had words outside his chamber, and then inside his chamber --"

"You were soundly thrashed that night," Legolas interrupted sinking down beside me with a wince and look of condolence. "Were you not?"

I nodded. "Most soundly. I tried to not make a sound because I feared someone might hear. The halflings had chambers near to his."

"But --" He looked puzzled. "The first time Aragorn spanked you, the day before, were you not in your chamber?"

"No. I had begged him to let me take him to a place far away from Elrond's house where we would not be seen or heard, a private place I had found."

"And he agreed to this?"

"Aye, well, he took some convincing, but as it was my first time . . . ."

"Hmm." Legolas nodded. "He was feeling generous, my friend."

"Well, he wasn't feeling generous that last night in Rivendell. He hauled me over his knee right there in his chambers where I couldn't allow myself to cry out."

"An ill-advised tactic. It never does any good to try keeping quiet."

"So I've learned, but I kept quiet that night."

"How did you manage that?" he asked, clearly in awe.

I told him about nearly biting a hole in the pillow, which made Legolas snicker. "And do you know what he said while I was trying to restrain myself and biting this wretched pillow as he heated my backside?" I asked.

Legolas shook his head, his eyes alight with glittering sparkles of mirth.

"He said --" I assumed an Aragorn-like voice, _"'Your pride shall likely earn you a mouthful of feathers, little fledgling.'_"

Legolas nearly fell off the log. I'd never seen him laugh so hard and I fell right into it with him. It took us several long minutes to recover.

"Oh," Legolas finally gasped, "I can just hear him!"

"And then that business about the bench." I sighed and shook my head and exchanged a look of mock annoyance with the elf. "The man is incorrigible."

"Ah! The perfect word indeed! I called him so the other night," he said.

I studied him. "He took you out alone after your watch was done, didn't he?"

Legolas sighed and gave a short nod.

"Was it bad?"

"Aye, it was one of the bad ones. But the ones when I fight him are always the worst."

"You fight him?" I asked, stunned. "But some say that elves are stronger than men, so how --"

"I do not know," he said quickly. "Somehow my strength fails me when I am fighting Aragorn over a spanking. I usually accept it because . . . well, because I have earned it and I do deserve it, and . . . well, the man is so eternally right."

"I have noticed that as well."

"Aye. But mostly I accept it because . . . well, because . . . ."

"Because you want to accept it."

We shared a knowing look and a soft smile.

"Nevertheless there are times when I cannot submit, when I am feeling stubborn or I am blinded by rage as I was that night. So I refuse to allow it. Those times have been few, but they do lead to a fight. Aragorn has to subdue me, and then, aye, those spankings are worse." He flashed me a wry smile. "So I am still reluctant to sit."

I shook my head in sympathy.

A mischievous glint came into his eye and he said, "Once, however, after such fight that he had, of course, won, and after he had given me a very long spanking, do you know what I did?"

I grinned, enjoying this as he clearly was as well. "What?"

"Aragorn had me down over his knees, and he asked me if I would behave now, you know, the way he does when he is ready to talk and he needs you to be calm."

I nodded, hanging on every word.

"I was still humming mad inside. It had been a harsh spanking, but he still had not managed to swat all the rebellion out of me, and now I was doubly angry because he had stopped too soon . . . ." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

"Of course!" I shot back. "If he had done his part well you wouldn't have had any conflict left to torment and tempt you."

"Exactly!" He glowed. "So I lied and told him that I was ready to listen and behave."

I groaned, knowing this could not have ended well for Legolas, and knowing that I might have been tempted to lie just as he had.

Legolas now shot to his feet, excited by his own story, his eyes sparkling and his arms waving to help animate his tale. "So Aragorn turned me, and he was holding me there on his lap, just watching me and waiting for me to calm. But instead I scrambled up and dealt him such a powerful blow that he went sailing right off the other side of the log where he sat!"

"You what?" I cried, jumping up in shock.

Legolas was positively giggling. "I did! He was flat on his back when I last saw him and I took off running!"

My mouth opened and closed in silence. I was too stunned to speak, but Legolas looked completely delighted with himself. Then I fully envisioned this again, and I couldn't help it. I simply fell into gales of laughter. It wasn't funny, and yet the picture of it was, so I gave in to my inexcusable mirth and the two of us howled for several minutes more. We actually collapsed to the grass and sat there laughing like idiots

It felt, as Aragorn would put it, completely and wholly naughty, and yet it was wonderful to laugh like that with Legolas, and to see him laugh, and to know that we shared a bond like this and could talk in such a manner, open about our situation with Aragorn, free to enjoy it without question and knowing that another understood and that we were no lesser in courage or warrior spirit for what we accepted.

"Oh, I tell you, Boromir," Legolas rasped when he could breathe again, "It was without question one of the most ill-planned things I had ever done in my life, and when Aragorn got his hands on me again --" He paused and laughed anew. "I swear to you, I did not sit for a week."

"A week?" I exclaimed. "His spankings last a woefully long time, 'tis true, but surely he couldn't spank you long and hard enough for it to last a week!"

"Oh, but it was not just one spanking I earned with my stunt. He impressed his displeasure upon me every other night for a week, long and meaningful reminders that I was never, ever to do such a thing again."

"But, but you had to know that you would eventually have to face him again," I said in amazement. "You could not keep running forever."

He looked mildly bewildered, then said, "At the time I did not think that far ahead."

We collapsed into more laughter, then he added, "Yes, I knew I would regret it, of course, but I must tell you, my friend, I was in such an unreasonable state that I did not care. It seemed well worth it. I was very sorry at the end of that very long week, though. But Aragorn had been just. I deserved it."

"I would love to hear this story in full," I said eagerly.

Legolas laughed. "Someday."

"Are we enjoying ourselves?" a familiar voice called.

Legolas and I both scrambled up and I turned to see Aragorn, Frodo and Merry coming from the woods a little downstream from us, heading for the water, skins in their hands for filling. All of them paused and I wondered what they had heard, but it seemed they hadn't heard anything except our laughter.

They all paused and stood there, smiling, studying us for a moment. Aragorn cocked us his handsome grin, Merry winked at me and Frodo's large blue eyes glittered, reflecting the sparkles from the water. Aragorn flashed a look between Legolas and I that warmed me inside and made my heart feel full to bursting.

"Caught being friendly with each other." Legolas sighed and moved beside me. "I guess we shall needs be on friendly terms from now on."

I grinned at him. "I guess so."

Flashing me his perfect smile, he said, "Shall we join them, my friend?"

I nodded and together Legolas and I headed for the others.

end


End file.
